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beskarberry · 3 years

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Pink Dahlia

Flowers for Ishtar, Chapter 2

(Nonhuman!Mando x f!Reader) [+18!]

Din sucked marks into the tender skin of your thigh, leaving a trail of faint purple welts. “Always gonna make sure your belly is full, ner sarad, make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

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Rating: Explicit

Word count: 8k

Content warnings: Everything from chapter 1 (breeding, pregnancy, eggs, alien junk, etc.) Adding lactation/breastfeeding, cum eating, cockwarming/stuffing, orgasm denial, surprising alien pregnancy side effects, biology changes, nerd moments. There's also a bit of Real Talk regarding the situation but it's quick.

A/N: This is like 98% smut with a nice glob of ooey gooey fluff sprinkled in story glitter because I want to make this a 3 part series and I wasn't ready to end it. Have fun!

The sulfurous mid-afternoon air hung heavily in the old cantina, pushed lazily by the breeze coming in through the open door. Odd-bladed fans did their best to keep the air moving, but the glass of spotchka in Karga’s hand was still sweating with condensation, dripping when he tilted it back to his mouth. Across from him, the lone Mandalorian placed his collection of completed bounties on the counter quickly, seemingly eager to conclude business.

“Surprised to see you here by yourself, Mando. Where’s your partner?” Karga asked, swilling his glass around in one hand, his brow cocked quizzically.

“She’s… not feeling all that well. Told me to come collect for both of us.”

The Guild agent hummed his disapproval, taking a long, thoughtful sip of his drink. “Strange, I don’t think I’ve seen you apart since I teamed you two up. You… you didn’t kill her finally, did you?”

“No!” Mando stammered, raising his palms defensively. “She… she just ate some bad rations is all. She’ll be alright after some rest.”

“Mmm.” A wry smile tugged at the old agent’s lips, a knowing glimmer in his eye. “Well, my friend, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were getting a soft spot for that little lady. But you’re solid beskar all the way through, aren’t you?” Greef’s smile widened devilishly when Mando’s helmet tilted just a bit, a motion that would go unnoticed by any who didn’t know him. “You’re not getting soft on me... are you?”

“No.” Mando lied, fidgeting with the ends of his gloves while Karga eyed him up and down, well aware of the hunter’s tells. The armored hunter usually chose silence over confrontation, and his defensiveness gave away more than words ever could. “Can I just get some new pucks, please?”

“If you insist.” A scattering of fresh pucks clackered to the table after the spent ones disappeared, but the Mandalorian’s thoughts were too occupied with you to give them much consideration as he scooped a handful off the countertop. Collecting his pucks and fobs and credits, Mando bulldozed out of the cantina, ignoring the roaring laughter coming from the familiar booth.

The armored hunter hurried through the streets of Nevarro, only making pit stops to load up on snacks and ration tins, and a very harshly-demanded rancor wrap before heading back to the Crest. Food seemed to be the most rapidly exhausted amenity on the old gunship as of late, because someone...

Was hungry.

It crept up on you at first, the post-passion, post-panic munchies that grew in intensity until you were eating constantly, just like your partner had done just before he went into heat. Something about being full of his eggs was making you insatiable, which made no sense to either of you. You weren’t like him, you were human, but that didn’t seem to matter as you scarfed down the freshly bought tins he’d picked up while you were still on Jedha; the larder nearly empty by the time you reached Nevarro.

Though you were obliterating every edible thing in sight, Mando couldn’t keep his hands off of you when he wasn’t at the controls, lavishing you with affection at the drop of a hat. Hungry? You were fed. Tired? His bed was yours. Muscles achy? Feet hurt? Mando was there in an instant with warm hands and strong fingers.

Horny? You got it.

Almost worse than the need to feed was the need to fuck, your achy, swollen cunt soaking right though your panties at all hours of the cycle. Even sleep offered you no respite, your needy little pussy waking you up with a sinful squelch that made your partner perk up like you were blowing a dog whistle. Not that you could hide it from him anyway, as if you would even want to. It’d become too difficult to get up the ladder to your hammock with your belly full of eggs, though you’d probably just flip the damn thing over, so Mando had offered you his bunk, opting to sleep on the floor like a gentleman. That lasted maybe all of ten minutes, your desperate whines drawing him into the narrow cubby with you to share in the few hours of sleep you managed to get before one of your hungers made demands of him; but he was delighted to be of service no matter the case.

There wasn’t a single surface aboard the Crest that you two didn’t violate, your relentless libido determined to make up for the months of professional abstinence. Hot slick dribbled down the sides of supply crates and over the seat cushions in the cockpit, leaving stains of passion wherever he took you. His unknown species never seemed to lack in the strength and stamina department, hiking you up around his hips to plow you into the wall or rutting you into the floor, always mindful of your womb full of eggs. Once you both almost died when he fucked you so hard against the dashboard that you knocked into the navigation panel, nearly ripping the old gunship out of hyperspace where she would certainly be shredded into durasteel confetti.

Your armored companion was just as insatiable as you were, and honestly a little surprised you still wanted his attention. He didn’t think you would want him again after stuffing you full of his eggs, only to get them stuck in you. For years he had convinced himself his otherworldly anatomy was undesirable, especially whenever he needed to floss the teeth between his legs.

But you, you were starstruck. Your eyes lit up like fireworks every time his basement biters split apart, hands and mouth and cunt getting greedy with his bits. You and Mr. Wiggler were becoming best friends, the blue monstrosity joyfully rising to the occasion every time you stuffed your hand down the Mandalorian’s pants, and you were quickly becoming an expert at finding what drove him bonkers.

It was a delightful few days of experimentation, your full womb jiggling with laughter whenever you found a new button on him to press. His favorite seemed to be when you took his glowing girth in your mouth, flicking your tongue between each of the petals on his tip with your fingers buried to the hilt in his weeping pussy, unreasonably delicious nectar flowing right into your greedy mouth. Sluuuurp.

Mando also loved to have you above him, swollen as you were with his potential offspring, your mighty visage cresting above him like a ship hitting the waves. From behind his visor his lust-drunk eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the sight of you, your heavy womb only matched by the sway of your breasts, bouncing with fullness as you rode him or swinging wildly when he fucked you from behind.

Those he worshiped like no other, cupping them in his wide palms where they sat so heavily, pinching and rolling your nipples until you sang. Maybe it was the excitement of getting to finally have you for himself, to indulge in every fantasy he’d been keeping secret during your hunts together, but he could swear your breasts got bigger every damn day.

You’d noticed their growth too, but you chalked it up to demolishing every edible thing aboard over the short jaunt to Nevarro. Though you were heavy with his clutch you could tell your womb and your breasts weren’t the only thing getting just a little bit softer, your persistent snacking becoming a bit noticeable in other areas too; especially where dark purple stretch marks were beginning to show. Thankfully Mando didn’t seem to mind your weight at all, hauling you above him while he dug his heels into the deck, spearing his cock up into you like it was his last day alive.

He loved how your warmth spilled between his fingers and over the sides of his legs, the way your ass jiggled right in his face. He adored the sound of his body meeting yours, your perfect little moans and the slap of skin on skin, the way you threw your head back when he emptied his load into your womb, painting the batch of eggs in even more of his juices. Stuffed full of his cock to keep his cum from spilling, the pair of you would trail your hands over each other, basking in golden afterglow for as long as you could before the fire in your groin reignited, demanding more from your tireless companion.

It was… nice, and a little strange having someone so devoted to your needs. You were enamored with the man that Mando was turning into, or maybe just the man he had always been, his softer side kept secret to maintain your professional relationship coming out in full force to care for his buir’ika, as he called you from time to time. His intimacy surprised you, though maybe you were more surprised with how much you liked it, how much you craved his affections.

How much you were craving him right now.

Alone on the ship, you were stretched out in Mando’s bunk, trying to ignore the rumbling in your guts that echoed throughout the hold like a dying bantha. You’d opted to stay on the Razor while he took care of business since the last person in the galaxy you wanted to see you right now was Karga. Nobody gossiped like that old coot, and the last thing you needed was for him to catch his two best hunters with the evidence of their lovemaking so plainly in view.

You were dressed in nothing but one of Mando’s long sleeve shirts and your undies, having given up entirely on being able to zip your pants closed, but the recycled air felt blessedly cool on your body. Idly you stroked your swollen middle, rolling onto your other side and humming at the pleasant feeling of your partner’s clutch sloshing around inside your belly.

They felt so lovely inside of you, and you were almost disappointed that they would bear you no fruit. Kids had never been on your mind, you were a hunter, after all, and for your safety and peace of mind you’d gotten a contraceptive implant put in your arm ages ago. But laying there in the comfort of Mando’s bed, your belly full of his seed, the scent of him all over your body, your skin alive with his lingering touch, you couldn't help but imagine...

The Razor Crest’s ramp hissed as it opened, startling you to huddle deeper into the alcove lest you caught the attention of wandering eyes. From your hiding place you watched your partner enter the ship, the ramp closing quickly behind him.

“I got you those wraps you wanted, buir’ika.” Din said proudly, striding to where you were scooting to the edge of the bed to hand you the steamy, foil-wrapped package like he’d hunted it himself. You barely got a ‘thank you’ out before you were stuffing it in your hungry gob, wolfing it down like it was your first meal in days.

“You get- *nomf*- any more bounties?” You asked with a full mouth, finishing the last bite and licking the grease from your fingers.

“Of course, mesh’la, but first how are you? Besides hungry…” He reached up to your face, carefully brushing a tidbit of rancor from the side of your lip. His gloved fingers curled under your chin, briefly debating on pushing the bit of food into your mouth, but thought better of it since his gloves were probably gross.

You nuzzled into his hand, batting your lashes when his helmet tilted. “I’m alright, tired more than anything, and I feel like a bantha.” You jiggled your belly, full of food and potential, sticking your tongue out at yourself. Mando’s leather palm came up to caress his handiwork, gliding slowly over your swell. Under his helmet he was beaming, a big boyish smile stretching from ear to ear at the sight of you.

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life, so soft and strong and rounded with his eggs. His soul had become jaded to the idea of having a mate and a brood of his own long ago, but for the first time in decades he felt the flicker of hope. It was a pipe dream, of course, without another to fertilize you it was just a swelling in your womb; but he loved the intangible fantasy of seeing your beauty in his offspring’s faces.

His hidden smile faded at the reminder that this was nothing but an illusion, and a dangerous one at that. Your insatiable appetites might only be the beginning of your symptoms, and he was terrified to think that something so endearing could also be fatal.

“Mesh’la,” he said tentatively, his hands returning to his own personal space. “Once… once night falls we can get down to my clan, someone there will know what to do. Or if they don’t they'll find someone who does. Discreetly, of course.”

“Oh. Right.” You looked away from him, crossing your arms between your belly and your breasts, wincing at the tenderness in them that you didn’t need him to know about. Worrying your lip and toying with the edges of your sleeves, you looked back up at him with big doe eyes. “Mando?”

“Yes, verd’ika?”

“It’s just that I… don’t... don’t you want me to hold on to these?” You stammered, making up an excuse on the spot.

Yes. “No, they’ve been in there for days. They’re having some kind of effect on your body, and I’m worried about your health.”

“What if we run into another one of your kind? You said you only make a clutch every couple of years, and our life expectancy as hunters isn’t that-”

“There are no others of my kind.” He resigned, his hands tightening into fists. It hurt, knowing he was the end of his evolutionary line, living each day on the brink of extinction. For many moons he had hoped that one of his bounties would lead him to another, but not once did he ever see the same eyes that he had in another's face.

And he knew he never would.

Nodding solemnly, you leaned forward from where you sat on the end of the bed until your face met with the cold plate of armor that protected his heart, the hexagonal imprint denting your cheek. “Alright, if you say so.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, lovingly drawing circles on your back, the sharp edge of his helmet resting on the top of your head. You hooked your own arms around his waist, his narrow hips the perfect width for you to pull him closer.

The moment was both tense and intimate, the truth locked away in each of your hearts, confessions of adorations behind each of your lips. You were supposed to be hunters, not lovers, or at least that’s what you were both telling yourselves. Attachment was dangerous in your line of work, and the last thing either of you wanted to do was break the other's heart.

There were a thousand and one things you could say to him, but your body had other things on its one-track mind:

You were still horny.

Mando jumped when you pinched his ass, his visor snapping down at you with confusion and surprise. You looked up at him and waggled your brows, grabbing two greedy handfuls of his rear. “Well, chrome dome, you wanna take advantage of my bantha belly one more time before it ends and we have to wait for your next heat?”

That was a loaded goddamn question that the answer was obviously yes to, but high above the heat pooling in his groin another ray of sunshine beamed through his ribs and poured molten gold over his speeding heart.

You wanted his next clutch, too.

Warm, devious laughter rumbled in Din’s chest, happy to indulge your every whim. “I’d like that, what can I do to please you, ner buir’ika?”

You giggled up at him, pressing yourself closer to his body, your full breasts right at the perfect height to feel his other smile widening. “Actually, I want to try something…” He looked down at you quizzically, the hazy cabin lights streaking over his beskar like shooting stars. A sinful grin crept across your face, your lip caught between your teeth, eyes full of something devious. Your hands snuck to his belt, undoing the heavy contraption and letting it fall loudly to the floor, the leather and buckles scraping as he kicked it away.

Though he wasn’t in heat, the smell of his sex was still strong, warm and rich and inviting. You pulled the zipper down slowly, giggling devilishly when his hands came up to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs digging into your collarbone with anticipation. Mando’s multipurpose manhood flopped deliciously from his pants, the big blue bastard pulsating in your hand, swelling quickly to meet your every desire.

Teasing him with one hand, you reached down to find the edge of your shirt, pulling it up just past the curve of your belly so it bunched over your breasts. Mando groaned when you leaned forward and stuffed the weeping blossom of his cock up between your tits so it poked out the collar and bumped into your open mouth.

His hips bucked slowly, indulging in the feeling of your supple flesh gripping his length, his careful thrusts rewarded by a lap of your tongue between his petals. You groped his ass in time with his movements, squeezing his perfect, muscular buns and drawing him in closer.

“So… s-soft…” he stuttered, his singular black eye staring down at you. You winked and sucked one of the lobes on his tip, giving it a threatening nibble and making him jump. He growled at you, reaching down to cup your breasts and press them around his velvet spire, thrusting harder against your sternum.

Too much. Your sensitive bosom and squashed bantha belly were all starting to hurt, and not in a fun way. You gave Mr. Wiggler another sloppy wet kiss, pulling your mouth off of him with a vacuuming slurp. Leaning back made the alien member slick its juices down your sternum, which you evilly dragged your finger through to bring the ambrosial precum up to taste. You giggled up at him, the lecherous *pop!* of you pulling your finger from your mouth echoing through the hold. “I love how you taste, but I know I’m not the only one here that’s hungry, tinman.”

Mando growled at the implications, leaning his weight on each of your thighs til his abdomen was brushing your swell, his visor inches from your face. “Are you asking me to taste you too?” You nodded, doing a seductive little wiggle underneath him that made his cock bob for joy. Between your legs he rutted gently against your heat, stoking the fire that was already blazing. “Fucking stars, you’re on fire.”

“All for you, big boy.” You leaned all the way back, letting your arms fall behind your head and hooking your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Over the swell of your belly you couldn’t see much, a fact that you were both eager to exploit. “Promise I won’t look…” He rumbled at you fondly, but still snuck a hand over to the button panel on the wall, dimming the lights to near darkness.

Stuffed between your bare thighs, Mando rolled his hips into yours, holding your swell lovingly, feeling his clutch moving inside you in time with his dance. He adored the sight even through his visor, the roundness of you, the little seam that was visible below your belly button, even the stretch marks that were purpling around your hips. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but those seemed to grow darker each time he saw them, and he made a mental note to visit the local Twi’lek healing baths to get you some lotion.

Though he was only a silhouette in the darkness, you flinched when you felt his fingers trace the marks encircling your hips and streaking down your flanks. “Won’t miss those, that’s for sure…” you whispered, your voice heavy with self-consciousness. Din hummed lazily, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find them somewhat attractive, mostly because they reminded him of his own luminous stripes.

“I think you're perfect no matter how you look.” He purred, his weight pushing against your belly when he leaned down to caress your face. “You’re as beautiful carrying my clutch as you are on the hunt, and I can never take my eyes off of you. Not that I’d want to.” In the darkness your blush wouldn’t have been visible to the naked eye, but on his thermal scanner your cheeks lit up like the blossoms of a rose.

“And I think you’re cheesy.” You deflected, trying to avoid his gaze. “Maker for someone who doesn't talk all that much you sure have a way with words.” He only laughed more deeply, the first twinges of lust creeping into the brassy edge of his modulated voice. The mechanical sound wormed a question into your cerebral cortex, one you’d been meaning to ask for a long time. “Mando, what… what happens if you take your helmet off in front of someone?”

“I just can’t ever put it back on again.” He said coldly, a little taken aback by your question in the heat of the moment.

That’s dumb. “What if someone takes it off of you?”

“Well,” he started, trailing his hands down from your face to your slick-covered breasts, teasing his thumbs around where your nipples were already growing hard for him. “I would either have to kill them, or marry them.”

“Oh.” You moaned with surprise when he pinched one of your tender buds between his fingers, but the intense sensation couldn’t distract you from that little nugget of information that he’d just dropped. Guess I’m never seeing his face then. Alright. You started trying to come up with more questions to ask, but he was taking greedy handfuls of your sore breasts, making you writhe uncomfortably. “Ah… ah-ouch!”

“I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“My boobs hurt…” You whined, reaching up to cradle your tender titties. “Be gentle with them.”

His hands reflexively floated away. “I can stop if you-”

“No, don’t stop, just be gentle.” Mando quickly teased his gloves off before returning to your chest, his warm palms soothing even through the shirt. With his heavy cock still pushed against your groin, he slowly massaged your supple flesh with the same softness he would use to lull a lothkitten to sleep. His gentle administrations had you rolling your hips into his, dragging your clothed heat across throbbing cock.

He swayed with you, gyrating slowly, teasing your needy little cunt to focus on where you needed him most. Mando’s gunslinger hands worked magic into your mounds, even more so when he snuck them under the hem of your shirt to drag his calloused fingers over your skin.

“Still feel alright, cyar’ika?” He mused, pinching your nipples between the knuckles of his fingers, rolling them carefully between his strong digits.

“Y-yeah, but they'd feel even better if you put them in your mouth, I know you wanna~” You felt him perk up between your legs, his alien cock throbbing at the thought of getting a taste. “Y’know what, watch this trick.” You reached down and grabbed the edge of your shirt, pulling it up all the way until it was over your head, trapping your eyes and arms, your glistening breasts spilling out in front of his eyes. “Ta-da.”

You made sparkle fingers like you’d just pulled a magic trick, wiggling them high above your head. Inside the black longsleeve you couldn’t see a damn thing, let alone any of the features belonging to the man hovering just inches away. It was silly, but it worked.

“Is that… comfortable?” He asked with a hint of a laugh that only grew stronger when you said that it was. “Promise you won’t look?”

“Well, I like not dying. That’s cool and fashionable these days, I hear.” You said, enunciating with your hands.

That’s not... the only option. He bit his lip in a smile and tugged his helmet off, setting the heavy beskar down on the floor near his feet. You giggled when you heard more of his armor coming off, first the sound of his chest plate and pauldrons, then the weight of his canvas coat and pants flumping to the floor. His bare, hairy thighs scratched against the insides of your own when he returned to you, making you shudder. The warmth of his body and the scrape of his fuzz always made you forget his inhumanity until you felt his thick cock lay on your soggy panties, his groin close enough that his teeth could graze your skin.

“Well, hello Mr. Bitey, is someone...hungry?” you crooned from under your shirt-fort, shimmying like a snack just begging to be eaten.

“Starving.” Mando snarled, dragging the bristles of his face along your leg, then up over your tummy, planting kisses every few inches along your prickling flesh. As his kisses got higher you couldn’t help but arch your back into his hot, plush lips, squirming excitedly when he teased around your nipple. He took his sweet time with each one, pressing his lips longer and slower to the flesh of your areola, his nose bumping your sensitive peaks and coaxing little moans from your lips. “You always sound so delicious, and I bet you taste just as well.”

Helpless, you threaded your fingers through your own hair, lost in the darkness the shirt provided. A sinful little mewl creeped out of your throat when he hovered juuuust above your bud, fanning the hot steam of his breath over your near-burning flesh. “Mando, plea-”

“Din.”

“Din...ner? Dinner? Yeah I could eat more, but I’d rather-”

“No, mesh’la, my name is Din.” was the last thing he said before he slurped your nipple into his mouth, nearly making you scream. Fucking stars his mouth was a furnace. Wet with saliva and hot with need, his clever lips and sharpish teeth turned your body into putty that he worked like a sculptor. You keened when he bit down and sucked, almost making you see stars.

“Feel good?” He mumbled around a mouthful of you, the arms that caged you in flexing slightly when he tried to swallow you whole.

“Mand-...Din! Din, don’t s-stop!” You whined breathlessly, digging your heels into the backs of his knees, forcing him to rut against your sweltering heat, the petals of his blossom licking up your belly. If you had any braincells left you might have pulled your arms from your sleeve prison and reached down to stroke him, but he was turning you into a pile of incoherent mush, not that you were complaining. Under his weight your full womb was starting to ache from the pressure, and for a moment you thought that if he wasn’t careful he would alleviate the need for you to seek help at all. “P-p-panties…”

His lips pulled from your flesh with a greedy *pop!* “But cyar’ika, you taste so fucking good.” The lull in sensation gave you just enough willpower to fiddle with the shirt on your head, pulling your arms free and hiking the collar up to just under your eyes. With your hands freed you clawed at your waistband, lifting your butt off the bed so you could tear the soaked fabric off. Nimble fingers tangled desperately with your own, peeling the cotton away and making you shudder when the cool air met your volcanic heat.

“Such a perfect sight, so fucking beautiful, all full of my eggs and dripping with need. Never get tired of seeing you blooming for me.” Warm fingers danced up your skin, his lips kissing his way to the treasure between your legs, the bristles of his mustache making you shiver. Din sucked marks into the tender skin of your thigh, leaving a trail of faint purple welts. “Always gonna make sure your belly is full, ner sarad, make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

His chin hovered just above your curls, taking a moment to plant a kiss on your womb, humming his adoration into your swell. Lifting your legs he spread you out before him like a feast, and you couldn’t help but laugh when you heard him suck his spit down.

“I’m gonna eat you all gone, beautiful, would you like that?” You nearly moaned your consent, the pitch of your voice rising another octave when he threw your legs over his shoulders and dove down to suck on your throbbing clit. Din mumbled something about the taste of you, fucking his tongue into your cunt, dragging the smooth muscle up your slit to spin circles on the sensitive little pearl that was turning you into a writhing, squirming mess.

Your legs locked around his shoulders, making his beard scratch the marks he’d left on your thighs. His lust-filled laugh rumbled right through your core when you arched your back off the bed, thrusting yourself into his face, your spine twisting even harder when one of his long fingers snuck up inside. You were spiralling, grabbing your own breasts to keep them from hitting you in the face, the heavy things bouncing from him fingerfucking you. One finger was joined by a second, their tips curling up into the devilish patch of nerves and pushing you right to the breaking point.

“Ah, Din! I’m gon-gonna-!” Din sucked your orgasm from you, his hungry mouth making obscene noises between your legs til you were crying for him to stop. Desperately you reached down around your belly to grab his hair, tugging him away from his feasting so you could fucking breathe.

“N’ver tasted anything so damn good.” He purred from between your legs, coming up slowly for air. “Want you on top of me, wanna taste your tits while I fuck you senseless.” His hands wormed under your back and legs, pulling you into his body so you straddled his waist, his length squished between your bellies. You couldn’t help stealing yourself a few kisses, his hair tickling your nose when you nibbled his ear.

He hugged you to his chest and spun you both around, his ass hitting the bed with the force of your combined weight. Din’s hot mouth found your own, laughing against your lips at your blindfold situation, but you didn’t care. He was delicious, his lips full and flush from getting to taste you, his mustache scratching your face slightly in his heated passion, but he was careful not to undo the shirt covering your eyes.

You looked unbelievably foolish, especially when you broke away from him to grab the sleeves, tying them in a knot behind your head like you were wearing the world’s worst ninja costume. Even with your oversized blindfold you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, your voluptuous figure eclipsing the Crest’s scattered lights, outlining you in a sea of stars.

You brushed your fingers through the hair on his chest, pushing him down onto the mattress and rolled your hips to notch him in your silken folds, sinking down around him with a sinful sigh. “Fuck, yes Din, Din, Din!” you panted, savoring the taste of his juicy secret, his name like honey on your lips.

“I love- how you say my name, sweetheart. Let me hear you beg for me.” He leaned back and canted his hips up into you, dragging his cock through your walls and making your breasts sway right in front of his face. Hypnotized by the gorgeous dewdrops, his lips parted to suck the hardened tip of one into his mouth, a delighted groan rumbling through his chest that felt like an earthquake between your legs.

“Din! Din yes please, Din!” The short syllable tumbled from your lips like a song, your voice like music to his pointy ears. You writhed and bucked with each pull of his mouth, stuttering his name as if it was the only word you knew. His angular nose and sharp chin dug into the flesh of your breast, the combination of pain and pleasure bringing tears to your eyes. Your neck arched when his hand snaked down under the curve of your womb to curl a fingertip against your clit, giving you something to grind on. “Yes!!! Din yes yes...ah~!!”

His expert fingers teased you right over the edge, soaking his cock with a delectable squelch. Usually he rode your orgasm out with you, gently rubbing circles around your button to milk every drop, but for the first time in days he was motionless. You whined at the lack of friction, trying to glare daggers through the fabric over your eyes to where he was experimentally lapping at your nipple. “Fu-fuckin’... hey. Tinman what’s-”

“You’re leaking.”

“Yeah I just came.”

“No, cyar’ika, your… your breast is leaking.” Blindsided, you nearly tore the shirt off of your head in your confusion, but his heavy hand came up to cover your eyes.

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me not to look! The fuck do you mean it’s leaking!?”

“Give me your hand.” You rocked back onto his cock, letting him take your hand and pressing your fingers to your breast, tweaking your nipple. You gasped when something warm and sticky beaded between your fingers that wasn’t from his mouth. “I… um… I think you’re lactating.”

“W h a t.” You gave yourself another experimental squeeze, cupping your whole breast to coax more milk from the tip. “Are you fucking kidding me. The fuck is in those eggs?! First I’m hungrier than a goddamn Hutt and now you’re telling me I’m lactating!? If I didn’t know better I’d say I was actually pregnant! You’re sure those eggs of yours weren’t fertilized?”

“My spermatophores are vaginal, they’re located outside of the entrance to my womb.” He stated like he was hosting a nature documentary. “Another one of my kind would have to put their eggs in me, and vice versa for there to be conception. And no, I can’t fertilize my own eggs. I’ve... tried.”

“Spec-fuckin-tacular.” You groaned, rubbing at your temples. “No wonder my goddamn boobies hurt so much, they’re full. How long until nightfall?”

“It’s only mid afternoon.” He said softly, but you heard him lick his lips. “I… would… be happy to… hmm. empty those for you, i-if you’re ok with that.” His fingertips danced lightly around your sticky nipple before you heard the sound of him licking them clean.

“I mean, if you don’t think it’s... weird… Feels nice to have your mouth on them, it makes the pain stop.”

“Mesh’la. You are full of my eggs, I think we’re beyond weird, don’t you?” Giggling, you nodded, your head rolling back when he latched onto your teat again. You sobbed with relief at the feeling of him drinking you, his own filthy moans vibrating along your skin.

Din had never tasted anything so divine. The flavor of you was an instant addiction, sweet and wholesome on his tongue as your milk pooled in his mouth. Above him you were a panting, sweltering mess, bouncing on his cock like a nexu in heat, the molten firestorm of your pussy demanding attention while he suckled at your breast.

“Oh fuck yes just like that, Din!” You begged, squishing him beneath you while you rode him, pressing your heavy breast into his eager mouth. His tongue spun circles around your tip, lapping and sucking down the milk that was now flowing so readily. Wide, calloused palms drove you down on his otherworldly spear, the clever little petals on his tip circling around your cervix like it was trying to leave you more gifts. Naughty thing.

“You like this, cyar’ika? You think you can come on my cock just from my mouth?” Din purred, his voice dripping with lust, and probably you. He held you by your thighs, stopping you from chasing your own high that was so fucking close. You were about to rip him a new one when he pulled your other nipple into his mouth, licking the dribbling milk from your swollen tit, savoring every drop.

“F-fuckin’ jerk, such a d-damn...tease!” You wailed when you felt teeth nibbling on your breast, making your milk spill down his throat. Inside your walls clenched and fluttered around his cock like they were trying to suck more eggs from him, desperate for him to move, but he held steadfast.

“Come for me, beautiful, come for me and I’ll fuck that pretty little cunt raw.” He mumbled around you in a milk-drunk drawl. You leaned heavily over him, your fingers digging into his thickly muscled shoulders while his dug into your hips. His cock throbbed inside of you, furious with the man it was attached to for denying everyone’s orgasms, but unfortunately he was right.

He could make you come with just his mouth.

Din drank deeply from you, letting go of your leg to squeeze the fat of your breast, coaxing more to flow into his hungry gob. When his teeth tweaked your tip again you were sent, bearing down on him with the force of a hurricane. Under you he stuttered and whined, convulsing from the strength of your pussy drenching him in your arousal.

You leaned back, stealing your perfect tits away from him. “Keep your promise, buckethead. Fuck me like you mean it, breed me, make me yours~” Your words dripped with desire, your hips grinding into him, the sweat on your brow soaking the fabric tied around your face. Blood pounded in your ears, your chest, your cunt, your entire body beating to the rhythm of his filthy cadence. You’d fuck him forever if he let you, but between your legs Din wasn’t moving.

Again.

You slumped your shoulders and cocked your head, the sleeves flopping forwards like bunny ears. “...Din?”

“Um… your breasts.”

“Please tell me they’re not doing something else.” For a moment he was silent, the steady beat of his heart felt against the cradle of your womb, but other than that he was still. “Well? Spit it out!”

“Your nipples are glowing.”

“Bullshit.” You crossed your arms under your breasts, making them dribble with milk. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Next he’s gonna tell me I’m growing teeth. “Fuck you mean glowing?”

“They’re purple.” He whispered, his hands coming up to caress the sticky wet tips. “They’re... beautiful.”

“Cockamamey bullshit.” you hissed, hauling yourself off his throbbing member, clambering around so that you were facing his feet. He moaned like a little whore when you sat back down on him, your hungry cunt swallowing every inch of his big blue eel, but you had more important matters to attend to. You ripped your blindfold off and chucked it through the cabin, not caring where it landed, and gasped.

On your chest two faint, pinky-purple lights swayed on the tips of your breasts, surrounded by freckles of soft starlight, their luminescence dulled slightly by the milk that still dribbled over your skin. You stared at them like you were making eye contact with motherfucking mothman, cupping and dropping your boobs, mesmerized by their new ability to glow in the goddamn dark.

Under you the gentle ruts from your partner were hard to ignore, but now that you had your eyes free you could see his own bioluminescent stripes spiralling down his legs. Your brain short-circuited when you made the connection:

You matched.

“Cyar’ika?” He asked tentatively, his wide palms circling your hips. “Is everything ok?”

You laughed, that manic, ‘this-might-as-well-happen’ laugh that sent a chill through Din’s spine. “Yeah, buckethead, I’m dandy. My nip-nops are just radioactive, no big deal!” You grabbed his knees, supporting yourself while you laughed, watching your lanterns sway over your egg-filled womb. “Fuck me sideways, you could have at least warned me this would happen.”

“That’s never happened before, but nobody’s ever...carried for me either. We can stop, let’s-”

“Ohhh no, mister, I’m not done with you.” You scooted a leg back and pulled one of his up, making him bend his knee. “‘My SpErMaTaPhOrEs ArE vaGiNaL’ he says, fucking nerd. Well, let's see if I can find them.” Din whimpered when you stuffed a hand between his legs, sinking your fingers into his toothy taint. You weren’t really sure what you were looking for, but he loved how deep you were both getting, him thrusting his cock up into your weeping pussy while you played around with his.

“Mesh’laaaa~!” Behind you his head rolled back, his abdominal muscles convulsing and kinking his spine. Grabbing his bent leg, you lifted your butt up just enough for him to thrust, holding his shaking thigh between your lit-up ladies.

"Need to get you some toys, mister, get in there real deep.” You growled, pressing your fingertips into the spongy spot on his walls. “Would'ya like that, big boy? Want me to stuff a fat cock in you? Make you mine?" Inside his muscles were going berserk at the thought of you bending him over, his walls clenching and spasming, his orgasm right at the tip of your fingers. "Be a good boy and cum for me."

You heard him cry out behind you, his hands clawing into the dips of your hips as he cascaded over the edge, the sound of your name pouring from his lips like a prayer of devotion to your altar of sin. Thick ambrosia spurted from his cerulean cock, frothing back out and coursing like molten lava around where your hand was buried. His flushed, fluttering hole tried to suck your fingers in deeper, his slick fangs curling around your wrist to hold you in place.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly you teased your fingers from his pulsating jaws, shivering at the scrape along your skin. Though it was dim in the cabin, you could still see the glistening slick trickling down your fingers, stringy trails of cum catching the light from your nipples when you stuffed them in your mouth to lick yourself clean. “Fuck me you're delicious.”

“Again? Give me at least ten minutes, cyar’ika.” He chuckled, his mirth making your ass jiggle against his tummy. “Stars, how did I get so lucky?” Din asked, his voice hoarse from unloading his entire soul into you. “Are your breasts ok?”

“Much better, thank you. Though they’re still looking at me.” You said with a laugh, easing yourself off of his softening member. The sloppy thing bounced against your butt as you crawled out of the bunk, holding your hand up to your eyes. “I’m not peeking!”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, watching you tuck into the dimly-lit fresher, listening to you turn the shower on. He sighed and stretched, dragging his fingers over the expanse of his chest, giving himself goosebumps in his post-euphoric afterglow. He thought about joining you, but that would mean keeping the lights off, and in your rounded state your grace had gone right out the window. Best just let her be.

When you stepped out of the shower the lights had come back on inside the ship, making you squint from being in the dark for so long. Cradling your belly, you walked on steamy steps to where your re-armored lover was cleaning up the mess you had both made of the bed and pressed a kiss to the side of his helmet. “Thanks for the ride, tinman.”

“Any time, beautiful.” His fingers cupped under your chin, holding you where he could press the brow of his helmet to your own forehead, rumbling with adoration. “Are they still glowing?” You circled a wet boob with your palms, the faint light just barely visible in the dark of your hands. He laughed with disbelief, “That’s… that's amazing. I wonder if they’ll keep glowing after those eggs come out.”

“Would be pretty cool, makes for one hell of a party trick.” Your giggle turned into a yawn, stretching your arms out and making everything on you bounce delightfully. “I want a nap." You mumbled, rubbing at your eyes like a sleepy child. "Wake me up once it’s dark out? Or join me, I don’t mind cuddling.”

“Someone needs to be awake in case Karga comes knock-” His sentence trailed off, his helmet tilting slowly, the opaque blade of his visor locked on to your face, the intensity of it trying to burn a hole through your skull.

Furrowing your brows, you matched the cock of his head, looking like a confused wet puppy. “What, what’s wrong? Are my eyes glowing too, now? Please say no...” His hands floated up to your cheek, his thumb circling under your eye, pulling the lid down slightly. You groaned, “Ugh, I know, these bags are not designer, but I'm tired. You would too if you were this preggers.” You drummed on your belly, the hollow reverb of it echoing like a ripe melon, but your beskar-burdened buddy was not amused.

“Yea… you look... tired. Get some rest, I-I’ll get you up at sundown.” His modulated voice was flat and suspicious, a stark contrast to the adoration he had been pouring over you just moments ago.

“Oh...ok.” You smiled at him a little dryly, turning to the bunk and throwing a fresh sheet over the thin mattress. Din helped you crawl up into the cubby, secretly adoring the way you just kinda flopped down on the bed, your arms and legs drained from making love to him. You mooed your best bantha impression at him with a giggle, pulling a blanket all the way up to your nose. “Hey, Din?”

“Yes cyar’ika?”

“This whole… thing we have going, it’s not going to change anything between us, is it? Can we still hunt together?”

“Of course.” He cooed, his thumb drawing little circles around your ankle. “There’s nobody I would rather have by my side than you. Let me know if you need me, or if anything else starts to light up, ok?”

“Ok. Thanks, I… I wouldn't want to hunt with anyone else, either.” His loving demeanor brought fresh warmth to your cheeks, which you wiped at to try to hide as though his thermal scanners weren’t picking them up like fireworks. He bobbed his head at you as a way of saying 'sweet dreams' and pressed the button on the wall, letting the cubby door slide down so you could get some sleep.

Without your eyes on him he shuddered, the butterflies in his stomach kicking up a tornado of emotions. He didn’t know what he was feeling, it felt good but also sickening, like the first time he’d flown a ship through hyperspace to meet the stars for himself.

It was exhilarating, the terror, the adrenaline, the joy, all boiled together into a cauldron of emotions that he was struggling to understand. But under all of that seethed something darker, something selfish and frightening, poisoning his heart with shame.

The bags under your eyes weren’t the only things he had seen on your face.

You had enough on your plate right now, with a belly full of his eggs and the milk leaking from your tits over your glow-in-the-dark nipples. He was surprised you hadn’t gone berserk and tried to kill him from being overwhelmed, but that’s what he liked so much about you to begin with, you were strong. Tough. Beautiful.

Radiant.

But as steadfast as you were, he didn’t want to add any more stress to your pile, letting you sleep peacefully as if you weren’t going to play with your blinker boobs for another half hour or so. He paced the cabin, his thoughts going back to your face. To your eyes.

You’d find out eventually, as soon as you passed a mirror or a window, or even stared too long at his beskar the secret would be out, but at least you will have gotten some rest beforehand. He fidgeted with his gloves, wary of the clock that seemed to be drowning in molasses, haunted, delighted, terrified by what he’d seen.

Because your eyes, your beautiful, sleepy, half-blinded, lust blown eyes had changed. The roundness of your pupil bent where the iris was forming new angles, its colorful edges spreading over the darkening sclera that had once been as white as snow.

Din didn’t believe what he had seen, maybe it was a trick of the light or a symptom of his exhaustion, but to him it looked like your human eyes were slowly being replaced with something strange and new and hauntingly familiar that filled his chest with ill-begotten hope and much-deserving fear.

Your eyes didn’t look like your own anymore.

They looked like his.

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years

Text

Flotsam

Also on AO3.

For the first few hours, the sound of her breath, loud in her ears, and the slow slithery shiver of adrenaline draining from her body proved sufficient companions to distract her from hopelessness. Several hundred meters away, the wreckage of Normandy’s riven fuselage began to cool.

Shepard revolved slowly in the void. There was absolutely nothing to stop her. She suspected it would get old fast, but for now she had bigger problems. She tapped away at her omni-tool and projected a display of biometric indicators onto the inside of her helmet’s visor. Her suit wasn’t compromised or she’d be long dead already. Some percussive trauma from the explosion, and a hell of a welt where she hit the bulkhead on her way out. Her head and shoulders ached something fierce.

Nothing life-threatening. She moved down her list of priorities. Water reservoir: meager, but full. Food: none. (Technically, a bag of dried fruit in her pouch, but it might as well be on the planet below for all the good it did her now.) Carbon air filters: new, with seven full days of use remaining.

After weeks of moping about no action, scanning geth in the Terminus, Kaidan finally convinced her to tend her gear. Yesterday. It took a few long breaths to suppress the could-have-been panic, so tangible that her blood pressure spiked. The old gunked-up filters wouldn’t have lasted seven hours, let alone seven days.

She could only hope her shouting at him had returned the favor, that he’d boarded an escape shuttle and saved his life. The shuttles had streaked across Alchera’s thin sky while she sat here turning like a spit roast, hair floating in her helmet and getting in her eyes, trailing plasma until they vanished into specks, and then into nothing.

The spinning really was growing tired with nothing in reach to arrest it. Her gun would’ve been very useful about now, a slow and dirty method to propel herself. Shepard supposed she should count herself lucky it wasn’t faster, some dizzying speed meant to leave her unconscious.

A bubble of laughter escaped her mouth. Then another. It grew into a chuckle and then a full-grown hysterical cackle. Lucky. That was funny. She’d never heard anything funnier in her life.

Enough of that. Third priorities. Comms. Shepard began scanning all the frequencies, standard and emergency both, and winced as Normandy’s beacon screeched into her ear. It cleared the ship before the explosion. She closed her eyes; that was one worry down. However, no amount of fiddling would persuade her transmitter to work. She was on her own.

No remedy but to wait. The Alliance would respond, because there was no other option, and Shepard refused to accept defeat. She shut her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, intending sleep. Then spread them wide again as it only served to speed up that infernal spin.

* * *

By the second day, the silence bothered her as much as spinning without cessation. That, and the dark. When they were on the far side of Alchera and its bulk blocked Amada’s light, Shepard couldn’t see a hand before her face. She fought the urge to activate her headlamps. No pressing need for illumination existed, and it would only run down her batteries, which were much better spent on other trivialities like air circulation.

She sang, for a time, in the dark. Never had much of a voice. Never cared for music, if it came to that. But it was the only company she had.

* * *

Debris glittered in the twilight. They were headed into another night, all of them together, these slowly whirling fragments of her ship, all moving at slightly different velocities. Her only entertainment these long hours was watching them dance and collide and drift away again.

Her proximity alert began to sound.

Shepard was famed for her reflexes. Those instincts, that hair-trigger reaction time, had kept her alive through a decade of military service and every scrape that came before. They made her the pride of the navy, the first human spectre. Chosen by a turian of all people. She chuckled to herself. Her mother hadn’t believed it, at the time.

The alert continued to beep insistently.

That was important, wasn’t it? Had to be. When one second blurred into hours like this with no sign of passing, urgency ceased to exist, and thought became a fog. Like breathing through molasses.

Proximity alarm flashed on her HUD.

Proximity alarm. Proximity alarm!

Her eyes flew wide. She jerked instinctively, trying to look behind her, and that motion only added another axis to her tumble. But it did bring the offending object into few. A composite panel with a ceramic-slathered titanium skin, a portion of the upper section of the ship, stenciled part and serial numbers winking in the sunset. It traveled sedately in a straight path with no notable additional motion.

Directly towards her, in fact.

She flailed uselessly. Unsurprisingly, the bit of space junk did not care.

At the last second she braced herself, her forearms flying in front of her fragile visor and taking the brunt of the impact. All the air went out of her as her teeth clacked together. If it slowed even a fraction, she couldn’t tell. She thought her right arm might be broken. A blinking message on her HUD confirmed it.

Shepard took a heavy breath, and then another. No hiss of air accompanied the hiss of pain in her limb. No spiderweb cracks splayed across her vision, threatening to shatter. She got hold of herself.

The panel continued to push her along like a plow. They were in no immediate risk of further collision. And—

The spinning…

Oh sweet, merciful fate, the spinning had stopped.

And, to her delight after tentative experimentation, she could move. Really move, with purpose put her body someplace else, by pulling herself along the much heavier piece of her ship.

Curling her good arm around its rough edge, clinging to her driftwood like a child, she fell into her first restful sleep.

* * *

Her mouth was parched. No better than half-awake, she sucked instinctively at the tube in her helmet. She got down two whole mouthfuls before she realized and spat out the tube in a panic. Frantically, she cued up her monitor, and her face fell into her boots. Less than a quarter remained.

It was hunger, she decided. Over the past day she’d become increasingly lightheaded. The ache in her gut had passed, but that was hardly reassuring.

Normandy’s emergency beacon continued to blare. One had joined it from the ground, a counterpoint lasting approximately an hour out of each orbit. So some of her crew had survived. At least when she died here, that wouldn’t weigh on her conscience.

Shepard did not dare allow herself to wonder if Kaidan was among them. Down that path lay madness. Or at least a decent nervous breakdown.

Her head rested against the panel. It made for a comfortable enough bed in microgravity. Something solid to ground her. It had gotten colder, too. Vacuum turned her suit into a thermos but a little heat seeped, regardless; had to, or her suit would cook her alive. Kaidan liked to read. Always had his nose in his datapad, every minute of downtime aboard ship, at least when he wasn’t tinkering with his omni-tool. Shepard smiled fondly. What was that one he kept poking her to try?

Ah, yes. Her smile broadened. A Fire Upon the Deep. Also, loosely, about a shipwreck. It felt appropriate.

Hope grew thinner by the moment, not as a matter of faith, but of pragmatism. She might as well burn the power. A command to her omni-tool projected the first page onto her helmet visor.

Her eyebrows rose with every chapter. Shepard enjoyed a good genre novel as much as the next person, but this was ridiculous. Sometimes she couldn’t believe his affection for this sort of thing. He really was such a nerd.

* * *

It had gotten very cold, now. Frost crowded the edges of her visor, growing with every expelled breath and robbing her of what little moisture remained in her mouth. The pain in her stomach had returned.

A few bars of a song mumbled between her chattering teeth. Some asari pop hit. Tali had been singing it for days, getting it all stuck in their heads on loop. It had driven Shepard to distraction. She’d give anything for it to distract her now. Dying slowly wasn’t exactly in the marine handbook. More than once, her good hand had wandered to her helmet seal, and contemplated just being done with it.

But marines didn’t give up. Shepard didn’t give up. Even if it was the sanest thing she could possibly do.

Her thoughts had become near-solid sludge. Her oxygen saturation was declining, as her filters were increasingly expended. Doubtless at some point she’d be insensible enough from carbon dioxide poisoning to actually do it. She didn’t find it comforting, nor the right kind of distracting.

Or maybe she’d fall asleep first, slowly drift away into nothingness from lack of oxygen. That seemed… preferable.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered her options. Her raft failed to carry her in reach of anything. They continued to make their slow way towards the fuselage, the largest part of the wreck, but she doubted they would reach it before her luck ran out. She could jump, though she’d have to kick off and leave the raft, a small sacrifice for the greater shelter of her ruined ship. If she hit her target. And they were far enough away, this panel and her, that odds were she’d miss the fuselage entirely.

Shepard tried to remember the next line of the song. Something about crests backlit by twin suns…

Her comm blinked.

She blinked back, utterly confused. The emergency beacons had been filtered out days ago. But she activated the audio.

“—ormandy, Normandy, Normandy, this is SSV Cairo. Respond, over.”

Shepard responded without thinking. “Cairo, this is Normandy Actual, over.”

A long pause. “Normandy, Normandy, Normandy, this is SSV Cairo. Respond, over.”

Her transmitter. For a moment, she forgot.

She slumped in her suit as the message continued to repeat, searching the void for survivors. She raised herself up on the raft to peer over the lip. Now that she was looking for it, she could just make out the Cairo’s running lights through the frost, multicolored specks far too orderly to be stars. Maybe fifty or a hundred kilometers off the port bow, in as much as that applied to a wreck. It might as well be light years.

No rescue was coming for her. They had no reason to believe anyone still located at the wreck was alive.

The line crackled. “Cairo, this is Normandy. You don’t know how glad we are to hear from you.”

Her eyes flew wide. Kaidan. That was Kaidan. She clutched the side of her helmet as if it could bring his voice any nearer. Kaidan was alive. He was speaking to her now.

Well, not her. But she could hear him, and that was enough.

The Cairo asked for details. Kaidan delivered stark facts without any consideration for how they hit her in waves of misery and elation. Twenty-one of her crew were dead. But twenty-three had lived— twenty-four if she bothered to add in herself. They made it to the surface.

His voice caught when he explained he was the highest-ranking officer left alive. Shepard rested her fore-helmet against smooth curve of her raft and shut her eyes, resisting the urge to bang her head. I’m here. I’m right here. Damn it.

He sent their location, and the Cairo responded by scrambling shuttles. They moved towards her; she guessed from the strength of the transmission that the wreckage and herself with it hung directly over the survivor’s camp.

Every marine was issued a mirror as part of the standard kit, for signaling. Shepard slipped hers out of its pouch and angled it as best she could, trying to flash it into the video ports of the Kodiaks, without success. They dropped down to Alchera without a twitch of deviation from their course.

There would be one more chance when they came back up. She began to peer around the debris field, more awake than she’d been in days. Maybe she would live through this after all.

* * *

Shepard hung cantilevered off the Normandy panel. It had been her lifeboat, but if she stayed with it now, she’d drown. It should be massive enough to allow her a good kick. This idea had been considered and dismissed several times due to the high margins of error created by distance. But between the raft’s stately forward progress and her slim window of opportunity, its time had arrived.

Farewell, friend. She planted both boots and shoved hard.

It gave, ever so slightly, but sent her sailing towards the ruined fuselage, and at great enough velocity that she reached it after only five or ten minutes. Her aim was good. She’d worried about missing the target, for all of a few seconds, which was longer than she usually spent contemplating the risks or the odds once she acted. Her extended stay in this lonely wasteland was getting to her.

Catching herself on a twisted beam, once part of Normandy’s backbone, she carefully lowered her feet until the magnets in her soles caught. A giddy smile crossed her face. Part one— success.

She wandered the ruins at a crawling pace. Discovering the intact pack of air filtration cartridges in what remained of the ship’s armory nearly caused a breakdown. Nowhere left was or could be pressurized. And even if she somehow managed to stretch her one working arm far enough to open her suit while equipped, it would only vent her air. It felt like drowning in a fish tank; safety right before her eyes, and Shepard unable to reach through the glass.

The medical supplies presented similar challenges. Her suit material had enough self-healing to withstand a hypodermic prick or two, and it was a moot point anyway, since it relied on elasticity to provide mechanical counterpressure. Vacuum and cold, however, made a ruin of Chakwas’ stores. A crystallized vial of morphine mocked her from her palm. She clenched her fist around it and made a concerted effort to pack away the pain of her fracture, back where it belonged.

Shepard needed a comm.

No power remained aboard the ship. But power wasn’t her biggest problem. And eventually, she found what she was looking for.

The body turned over easily, if a bit awkward to manhandle. Shepard stared at her for a good long time. Longer, really than she could afford. Her name was Caroline Grenado. She’d been the off-duty co-pilot at the time of the attack, asleep in the hot bunks when the alarm began to sound. Judging by her kit and the fact that her body survived the explosion, she did everything right; got in her suit, ran for the shuttles. The massive storm of fire engulfing Deck 2 caused fluid lines in the hull to explode. One had almost hit Shepard herself as she made for the stairs.

Shepard removed her helmet with unusual gentleness. Blood clotted in her hair where her head had hit the inside of the helmet, confirming her suspicion about Grenado’s cause of death. Just bad rotten luck.

Angry, she turned away and squatted upside-down on the deck, peering into the helmet. Alliance wired all their personnel with internal comms. Those short-range devices in turn hooked into mid-range comms like those found in the helmets. But the helmet could also transmit just fine on its own. Fail safes upon fail safes was practically a spaceflight motto.

If her comm’s allegiance could be changed, it was beyond Shepard’s technical skills. So she did the only thing she could. She began tapping the mic.

Her own receiver confirmed the transmission. Harsh as shit on the ears, but every screech of white noise brought her closer to living another day. Morse code was not her strong suit, but hell, even kids knew how to send S.O.S.

* * *

Her wrist ached like her hand was on the verge of falling off. The distress signal staggered out, disjointed, trailing off. The shuttles had come and gone without slowing down.

It couldn’t end like this. The Alliance actually came to save them. She’d survived the explosion, somehow. She made it back to the ship and damn it, she found a way to communicate. She knew she had the correct channel. What was wrong?

In the distance, the Cairo’s lights shone, sparks of mocking hope. In a fit of frustration and a naked thread of fear, Shepard threw the helmet across the broken room. It sailed on unerringly and bounced off the burnt mass of the opposite bulkhead. Shepard made not even a token attempt to grab it as it ricocheted past her and off into the abyss.

Her head slumped forward until it was buried in her hands, palms covered her visor, fingertips digging into the tough plastic like they were trying to pierce it through. It couldn’t end like this. Not alone, frozen fast in the dark, fading away, breathing bad air.

It couldn’t.

She hadn’t cried. She didn’t, as a general rule, not to save face but because Shepard counted herself among nature’s stoics. The impulse rarely visited her. But now she took a great heaving breath through her nose, feeling her throat grow thick and hot.

If she ever gave it half a thought, and she really hadn’t, dwelling in the shadow of her own mortality for her entire career should’ve inured her to this moment, an inoculation against existential dread. And in truth, she’d never been scared to die. And she wasn’t scared now. This… this anxiety, this dismay, it concerned something else.

Death brought her no terror. She’d been happy. Just for a moment.

Her eyes squeezed shut. A drop of water slithered down her face and entered the corner of her mouth, a burst of salt.

At least Kaidan lived.

The attempt to self-soothe backfired. The dam burst. She hugged her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth with only her mag boots to hold her down. Goddammit. Life never cared about what she deserved, but did it have to be this fucking unfair? Did this have to happen now?

The only sound in the universe was her sniffling and swallowed sobs. Somewhere behind them, a dim, chiding awareness that she could not afford to waste this water, and a louder voice answering that she couldn’t be paid to give a shit. Her one chance at survival hadn’t panned out. It was over.

Then a bit of light trickled between her knees. It took her a second to understand. She raised her head in utter disbelief.

A Kodiak, slowly nosing through the debris field. Following her signal.

Shepard rose, slowly, shaking with dehydration and mild CO2 poisoning. Tentatively, she waved her arms as the shuttle turned fully towards her.

* * *

Fifteen minutes for the Kodiak to reach her and maneuver into a “catch” position felt like fifty years. But eventually, the hatch lifted out and slid to the side. Behind it, faceless people, Cairo crew behind a mass effect field, gestured her to jump.

Even secure in the knowledge that if she missed, they’d circle back and get her, Shepard had no desire to spend another second exposed in space. She positioned herself carefully, disengaged her mag boots, and pushed off, floating as fast as she dared towards safety and life.

As her outstretched hand crossed the field, the nearest crew member grabbed her sore wrist and hauled her in. The sudden reappearance of gravity felt like an anvil dropping on her. She sagged, tugged off her helmet and threw it to the floor, filled her lungs with good clean oxygen in gulping breaths. Then Shepard was yanked upright as someone threw their arms around her and pulled her tight.

Her broken arm twisted. Shepard screamed, that jolt of white-hot pain so unexpected she couldn’t brace herself against the reaction.

Her assailant let go, fast, and stepped back. She saw his face. Kaidan. Kaidan!

He seemed to be suffering the same tongue-tying hesitant joy, as if speaking a single word would reveal the trick.

Words were overrated. She put her good arm around his neck and hugged him close. His arms folded around her, more gently this time, and whispered into her ear. “I knew you were alive. I knew that signal had to be you.”

She pressed her face into his cheek, and let that be enough.

#mass effect #femshep #shenko #fshenko #fanfiction #still not totally happy with this but i'm ready to move on

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struwwelzeter · 4 years

Note

Thank you for answering my question And now what do you love about Reesh please?.

Eh ... this could get long, but I worship at your feet for giving me an excuse.

I think we love famous people because we see something in them that we can relate to, usually things that we can’t relate to in people around us, so that’s how we feel less lonely. For me, this is how he got me:

CP: In some interview you stated that you don’t like staying in a comfort zone for too long. How does that work?

RK: I work best when I’m in some kind of misery, when I’m depressed or suffering. Subconsciously I put myself in that situation. I’m not one of those guys who start writing when he’s happy. One of the tools to get in that state is to change my environment, move to another city.

CP: It’s an interesting paradox though: you’re comfortable when you’re not comfortable. Is it hard to be you?

RK: A lot of people around me suffer. My family, my friends. I’ve been through many hours of therapy. It poses a difficult question: would I rather be happy or create another five great albums? Some people suggest I could be happy and create two great albums instead of five, unfortunately that’s not how it works. For ninety percent of the time great music is written on drugs.

CP: Was the creative process an excuse to write?

RK: No, my true addiction was the work itself. Because when I write, when I create, I feel validated and worthy. The drugs just helped me to keep going.

As well as this entire thing. I know it’s sad, etc, but for me listening to that just was relieving. You know, the «Oh god, I’m not the only one» kind of relief. The anything to be able to keep working? Been there, done that. I’m just like that too - just minus the success lol. I actually wish I could share my art here but I’m not sure how to do it while staying 100% anonymous. Like, I don’t mind people on here finding my art insta, but I’d hate for people I have work with amongst other things to find out I write fanfiction. Anyway, you can pm me if you want to see it I guess. It’s just, 9 out of 10 times he opens his mouth, I just go «dude, same!» ... moving on.

There is something about the way he wears his heart on his sleeve. I just like that about people. Sometimes people think that’s naivety, or all sorts of prejudice, but I love it when people do that just generally. It’s what truly makes people beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful - he is obviously very, very pretty. I mean. But I have to like/appreciate people for their attractiveness to even register with me, so uh —- I think I just really like what he’s like.

He’s brave. I mean lets face it, being in Rammstein probably takes a bit of bravery to begin with, but then he does stuff like, move to country where he doesn’t speak the language, or jump on that stupid, stupid, scary boat.

He gets guitarist bonus points. I’m just shallow like that.

Also, you know they get that half nimble, half strong hands and like, guitarist hands are my kink I don’t care how you look, show me your hands. I just melt.

He also gets music nerd bonus points. Like, this is what Flake says about him in Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag:

Er beschäftigt sich wahrscheinlich von uns allen am meisten mit Musik. Sogar in seiner Freizeit. In seinem Zimmer steht ein riesiges Regal voller CDs. Wenn wir früher in einen Plattenladen eine Autogrammstunde gaben, durften wir uns manchmal als Dankeschön einige CDs mitnhemen. Richard wusste dann genau was er wollte und legte sich eine hochwertige Bibliothek an.

He probably is the most occupied with music of all of us. Even in his spare time. There is a huge shelf full of CDs in his room. When we gave signing sessions in record stores back in the day, we sometimes could take a few CDs with us as thanks. Richard would know exactly what he wanted and created a valuable library.

That right there is the pathway to my heart.

Last but not least: The Rockstar thing. I have to say, while the mind is willing (what with the problematic cocaine snorting backstage and the sometimes inbred misogyny) the flesh is weak and I just fall for the rockstar cliche. The glamour, the dirt, the girls, the guitar squeals and the dressing room talk (not to be confused with locker room talk) - I just do. I can’t help it. It makes my heart sing. I guess I fall in love with destructive energy alot because I get bored so easily. My reasoning is that you can always snort glitter instead and be Patti Smith - or you know - Richard, the emo girlfriend.

#thank you #ill shut up now #rzk #richard zk #look at him

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ramblings-of-a-foolish-mortal · 4 years

Text

Constellations in your soul - C2

///Preface: this chapter has dissociation and some self deprecation in it. After releasing the first chapter I realized that some warnings might be in order so that people who are sensitive to the topic don’t suffer because of it. I hope you enjoy it and as always, comments and suggestions are welcome. :)///

Sirius sat on a toilet lid in the abandoned bathroom, holding up his arm up in an uncomfortable position while holding his shirt in his lap. Remus had spent a solid 10 minutes inspecting him to see what injuries there were before he’d even started to put Sirius back together. Remus held a grimace on his face and briefly brought his sleeved hand to his nose, like trying to wipe away a scent or a smell.

“Jeez, blood has a strong smell…” his grimace faded as he rolled up his sleeves, kneeling back to get a better look at what he was doing.

“So, remind me why we never use magic to do this?” Sirius leaned back a bit before Remus gently reminded him he needed to sit up straight for this. Haha, straight.

“Because healing spells are complicated, and while I may be smart I’m not about to rearrange your ribcage for something I could easily do with my hands.” Remus frowned as he spoke, mumbling things under his breath as he took note of them. His face scrunched up a little bit when he was concentrating, and his eyes remained focused on his target. His intense glare was one you didn’t usually want to be on the receiving end of, and it was pointed right at Sirius’ chest. Right now, he appeared to be trying to glare Sirius’ injuries out of existence. “What happened to make her this mad? I thought she doesn’t usually beat you like this unless she thought you did something?” Remus’ voice cracked when he said ‘beat’ like it caused him pain just to think about it.

Aww, you really think he cares about you Sirius. He just feels obligated to help you, you’re a burden in his life and thorn in his side.

I know…

“Uh- It wasn’t really anything bad,” Sirius shifted to prop his arm up on the water tank of the toilet, “She got upset at Regulus because he burnt the bacon, but I distracted him. At least, that’s what I told her, so she got mad at me. It’s not really that-!” Sirius growled quietly when Remus pressed on his side, pain flaring up his side and in his lungs. Shit that hurt…

“Sorry,” Remus muttered as he stood, walking over to an empty stall at the end of the row and coming back with a briefcase full of muggle first aid supplies. They’d hid it in here last year when Sirius had first explained what his family was like. Remus was very astute and had noticed Sirius consistently sleeping on his stomach and changing in the bathroom rather than the dorm, like the other boys (among other things like pained expressions and groaning in his sleep, which Sirius had no memory of doing.) Remus pulled out bruise cream and started spreading it across Sirius’ back and chest.

Sirius felt his face flush, looking up at the ceiling. “Take me on a date first, Remus.” A small, possibly awkward laugh left him, immediately replaced with a grimace as his ribs shifted slightly. Great… now he thinks I’m weird. I mean, he probably already did. I’m so fucking awkward why am I like this?

It’s because you’re worthless. Awkward? Closer to repulsive. He’s seen you beaten and bruised and broken so many times. Do you honestly think he still sees you the same way as before? Sirius’ grimace faded as he stared at the ceiling.

He cares, I know he cares. If he didn’t, he would’ve run away a long time ago.

PLEASE. You, James, and Peter are the only people who would accept him for being a werewolf. He’s got it SO much worse than you, and yet you make him take care of you. Bend to your whim.

Just shut up…

“Sirius, are you alright? “ Remus looked up at him from his crouching position at his side. Sirius looked down at him, leaning forward slightly.

“Yeah?” Remus held his eyes for a moment, studying Sirius for a moment, then offered him back his shirt.

“I finished. Your shirt might stick a little bit, but once your skin absorbs it you should be good. We’ll want to change the bandages on the cuts in a couple days.” Remus smiled slightly, offering Sirius a hand. Sirius took it, pulling himself up.

“Wait, there were cuts?” Sirius frowned slightly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I felt any cuts… “ Remus gently touched Sirius’ back, right between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, there were some right here, and a couple on your upper shoulder. Make sure not to move your arms too much. At least as best as you can.”

“Yes, Nurse.” Sirius sent a smirk at Remus before trying to pull his shirt on, face immediately contorting into a pained expression when his arms went over his head. Remus laughed quietly.

“Aww, do you need help getting your shirt on?” Sirius glared at him, pulling his shirt down, huffing quietly. “I’ve been reading a First Aid book published by a muggle health organization. It’s incredibly informative. I really enjoyed reading it too.” Remus let himself smile while closing, clipping, and rehiding the bag of First Aid supplies.

“You’re such a nerd, Remus. I mean, why would you read when you can climb trees or flirt.” Sirius waited until Remus was next to him to start walking back to the dorms with him.

“Because I find books much more enjoyable than people. They’re quiet, usually, and don’t require me to move very much. Pair that with the inevitable social interaction required when surrounded by other people, I tend to avoid people when I can.” Remus glanced over at Sirius as he spoke. Sirius had to tilt his head up slightly to look at Remus’ face, noticing how his hair reflected the torchlight. Well hot damn, I’m just too gay for this shit.

Sirius laughed at himself quietly, and they walked the rest of the way to the dorm in comfortable silence. Once Sirius climbed into bed, he carefully laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his mind as everything from How can I frustrate Professor McGonigal tomorrow to Should I leave James and Remus and Peter so they can finally have some peace?

His thoughts continued to wander as he fell asleep, pulling the blankets up another inch or two before drifting off.

While Sirius lay sleeping, Remus lay awake in his bed, trying to distract himself from the repetitive image of Sirius’ bruised and welted chest. Under different circumstances, Remus would’ve been incredibly embarrassed and flustered touching Sirius like that, but the bruises, cuts, welts, and scars had him in a significantly darker mood. Why would they hurt Sirius like that… actually, nevermind, they’re bastards with no souls. The better question is: Why does Sirius put himself in harm's way like that. He knows he’ll get it worse than Regulus, but yet he still chooses to take the blame for things, even small things. This is the worst I’ve seen him injured since second year…

Remus frowned at the memory of Sirius laying in his bed, asleep and severely injured. That day he’d traveled via firepit to Remus’ house after having almost been beaten to death by his own mother.

He could remember clearly the moment when he ran downstairs to see what had caused such a loud thump in his living room and panicked at the sight of Sirius covered in blood and bruises. It had taken quite a bit of both muggle remedies and magic to heal Sirius. They were lucky Remus’ mother knew First Aid and his father had become acquainted with healing spells through his work. He’d sat by Sirius for days, making sure he was okay, keeping him safe, getting him water and food and anything else he needed. Remus had been glaring at the wall with such fervor he’d given himself a headache. He groaned quietly, turning to his other side. He could hear Sirius breathing and chose to focus on that. The steadiness of his breath was calming, though Remus heard him occasionally heard Sirius’ breath hitch in his chest when he inhaled too deeply, heaven forbid he have a good night’s rest. I will have to invest more time in First Aid. It’s quite useful…

Remus closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, after a long time of his mind disobeying him, he started to ease into foggy rest.

A few weeks had passed since the first day of the term without much transpiring in the way of excitement. James was still preparing for his first big stunt of the year, and Sirius had been busy helping him. They hadn’t gone to bed until late the previous night due to planning what had to be their biggest, awesomest project yet, a map that would be able to track the students and teacher. One only they would be able to use.

Because of the late-night, and subsequent awful sleep, Sirius woke up at the unholy hour of 05:00 AM. He didn’t normally rise this early, but after waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare he wasn’t too eager to go back to sleep either. Slowly, he sat up and blinked slowly. His mind and body felt like they were dry and stiff, not wanting to move exactly when he needed them to, and he felt phantom pains from the dream stacked on his physical injuries. While fighting his lethargy, he got out of bed while grimacing as his rib cage shifted, then rummaged through his suitcase, yet to be unpacked, and then padded towards the bathrooms. His hair was likely a mess, but that would be fixed with a shower. And if it was still knotted, well, Remus was the only person he really let mess with his hair. James pulled too hard and hurt him, and Peter was so clumsy that the one time Sirius had let him touch his hair, it’d ended up so mangled it took Remus 3 hours to untangle. Sirius opened the doors to the bathroom, beginning to wash himself off. The water slowly woke him up enough to function, though there was still this lingering fog similar to silt covering his mind. A thought hit him in the middle of washing his hair, Today is gonna be shit… He frowned, frustratedly glaring at the wall. No, today is going to be FINE. I’m going to go to class like every morning. I’ll joke around with James, flirt with some people, and it will be good.

He stayed in the shower for another several minutes, simply because he felt like he didn’t have the energy to leave. When he finally gathered himself, he wasted more time while drying off. By the time he’d finally made it back to the boy's dorm room to put his dirty nightclothes in a basket by his bed, the other boys were up. One look at Remus told Sirius he hadn’t slept well either. They exchanged a mutual look of ‘You too, huh?’, before Remus broke eye contact to pull his sweater over his shirt. Remus had a tendency to only be semi-functional in the morning and preferred not to speak until after breakfast.

Sirius walked over to his nightstand to grab his brush, reaching out and halting when his hand closed around nothing. It’s not here… He glanced around the room and saw Remus holding it up in one hand while smiling slightly. Ah, there it is. Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Remus while James threw himself on Remus’ bed. Remus brushed out Sirius’ hair, occasionally using his fingers to untangle knots the brush wouldn’t pull through easily.

“You guys look absolutely awful. I keep forgetting you’re grouchy in the mornings.” James turned to lay on his back, watching Remus’ expression pass through 3 or 4 emotions before settling on mild dissatisfaction. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed but, well, James had been his friend for 4 years and picked up on some things. Sirius knocked on the top of James’ head, grabbing his attention.

“Well, you see, James, when two people-” Sirius had a grin on his face before Remus cut him off.

“Late night, little sleep, you’re a baby,” Remus spoke in a quiet mumble, probably still half asleep.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk James. If you don’t get your beauty sleep you’re grumpy all day! At least Remus turns functional after 3 gallons of coffee.” Sirius grinned as he spoke, though it was partially to cover up concern. He knew Remus hadn’t gotten to sleep until the small hours of the morning. I wish I could add more hours to the night, or knock him out. He might actually get some decent sleep if we drugged him… Remus poked the hairbrush over Sirius’ shoulder, catching Sirius’ eye and pulling him out of his train of thought.

“Here.” It came out barely audible as Sirius moved out of the way so that Remus could pull on his shoes. “Breakfast… Coffee… Tired… “ Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and started to trudge down the stairs. Sirius watched him leave, eyes trailing from his back to his muted and messy blond hair. He’s frickin’ adorable when he’s tired… Sirius smiled slightly, then glanced to his side where James had been only a few moments before, though now there was only an empty spot on the bed. Did he already go down to breakfast? Or did he go to flirt with Evans? Sirius stood up, walking into the common room just in time to see Lily telling off James for being a bother this early in the morning.

Sirius felt himself smile when he saw James trying to look sincere while staring at Lily with doe eyes. For some reason, James seemed to think it was hot when she was angry, though Sirius didn’t really understand it. He turned, continuing towards the Great Hall for breakfast, climbing out of the porthole and meandering down the hallway towards their normal spot for breakfast. Remus had all but claimed the spot as solely theirs. Even though he was so tired and usually the last one awake, he was also the first person to breakfast every day. Well, almost every day. Sirius glanced at the portraits on the wall, letting his thoughts drift. He knew Peter probably wouldn’t be there until the last 10 minutes, considering he wouldn’t be waking up for another 30 minutes at least. Sirius felt the smile melt from his face while looking at the portraits on the wall, a kind of quiet resignation worming its way into his brain. These wizards have all done great things. Only half of them have gone to Hogwarts but all of them have made some kind of great achievement… I’ll never make it on this wall… or into someone else’s wall, I won’t be on my own wall in my room by the time I’m old enough to move away… His body stiffened for a moment. I won’t be on my own wall… Since when did he want to be on his own bloody family tree? Since when did he want to be part of his own piece-of-shit family in his whole life? He turned, walking the rest of the way to the Great Hall. Of course, you want to be on your own wall, with the rest of your family. You’re just like them. Manipulative, hurtful, abusive. You’re so full of yourself you’re constantly playing the victim because nothing is ever your fault. How many other kids in this hall do you think have parents like yours? Probably all of them. They don’t have the kind of money your family does, they don’t have your kind of house, your parents' jobs, your siblings, the noble life. You’ve got it so much better than them and yet you think you have it bad? What kind of pathetic kid are you?

Sirius’ nails bit into his palms as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew the voice was right, but what could he do about it now? He’d already told Remus 2 years ago. His skin crawled at his own deceptions. I made Remus worry about me. I whined to him about my problems even though he has worse problems than any of us. Especially me. His thoughts turned and tumbled through his mind until they seemed to fade out. Like turning translucent. He watched the doors to the Great Hall pass overhead while his head grew lighter and his emotions turned into a little ball of chalk in his chest, compressed and hard and out of the way. He sat down at the table, sending a smile to Remus out of habit. Remus will worry… He didn’t talk most of breakfast, though he wasn’t incoherent. He frowned slightly when breakfast was over. I thought… I just sat down to eat. My food is gone… I guess I ate… Sirius stood up, watching his plate disappear before walking to his first class of the day, his satchel slung over his shoulder. I hope I can pay attention…

Almost an hour later he was finally able to start paying attention to his class, jotting down messy notes while flipping to a page in his Potions book. Sometimes he'd get spacey like he had earlier today, which was a pain because he had trouble focusing when he did that, and then he'd have to catch up on notes… which inevitably meant extra work. A mental groan pushed into his thoughts, along with yet another round of awful thoughts. Why won’t you just shut up for a while, huh? It’s not like I’m a COMPLETE failure. I have decent grades, at least. It’s hard to focus with all the noise in my head. He quietly growled at his papers, frustrated at his own lack of attention. Maybe I’ll just live under a bridge and join a troll. Or I’ll live as a stray dog. At least then I won’t take up unnecessary space. At least- His thoughts were interrupted by Remus touching his arm. Little bits of electricity raced around where Remus touched the fabric of Sirius’ shirt as he shifted his gaze from the parchment to Remus’ perfect face.

“Are you okay?” Remus spoke quietly, mostly mouthing the words. His touch on Sirius’ arm lightened like he was about to pull away. Sirius nodded, then shot him a winning grin.

“Ooh, Remus. It’s so nice to know you worry about me, but I’m fine.” Sirius purposefully made it sound flirty, letting his eyes close a little while pushing a small smirk. Remus arched an eyebrow at Sirius in what seemed to be suspicion or maybe just irritation. Sirius watched Remus for only a moment but felt his smirk turn into a smile, turning back to his work. “Really, I’m okay. Thank you for asking, though.” As he turned back to his work, his mind felt clearer, though he felt strangely cold once Remus retracted his hand, returning to his work. As Sirius continued taking notes and working, he felt more at peace with Remus there. He knew that Remus cared, and he knew Remus would be there if he ever needed him.

The thoughts didn’t entirely go away for the day but it got easier to ignore them, or at least make them quieter. Most of the day passed tediously slow, except the few times he got spacey again, as opposed to the first class that had passed almost in the blink of an eye. Sirius couldn’t even remember concretely if he’d actually gone to those classes, though he was sure he had because he had a nonsense compilation of notes from all the classes combined into an incomprehensible document. It wasn’t until after dinner that he realized how tired he was. He’d spent all day either on the run between classes that were on opposite ends of the castle or trying to be coherent in class while spacing out. As he started walking back to Gryffindor Tower, James smacked the back of his head as he ran past Sirius. Snapped out of his stupor, Sirius glared at him while smiling.

“You DIDN’T.” Sirius felt his smile grow wider before Remus stepped up next to him and took his bag. After a brief smile of thanks to Remus, Sirius took off after James, chasing him down the hall and dodging around people.

“Get him back for me, Sirius!” Peter called out to Sirius, cupping his hands so Sirius would hear him. Remus smiled slightly, glancing over at Peter for a moment.

“They are pretty ridiculous.” Remus shifted Sirius’ bag higher on his shoulder as he spoke. Peter let Remus have the moment before hesitantly opening his mouth to speak.

“Hey, Remus?” Peter glanced up, raising his head quite a bit to see Remus’ face, which was almost an entire head taller. “How far away until the next visit to the shack?” Remus’ face lost the smile. Their group had started referring to full-moons as ‘visits to the shack’ in an effort to normalize their conversations about it without letting everyone in a general vicinity know about Remus’ condition. Remus let out a quiet sigh, seeming to sag slightly.

“It’s two weeks away. Supposed to be on Wednesday. Though I don’t know if that’s 100% accurate.” Remus glanced out the window momentarily to look out the window onto the Hogwarts grounds. He saw the Whomping Willow in the corner of the visible grounds through the window. Remus could only stand to look at it for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor inside the castle. Peter nodded beside him, then turned down the hall towards the Gryffindor Tower.

“I have some chocolate from the house-elves. If you want some? I’d be happy to share, it’s honestly too much for me.” Remus smiled as Peter spoke. He was very sweet, and could usually see when someone needed something and acted on it frequently. That in its own right was very brave. Remus knew more people than he chose to count that rarely acted when they saw someone in any kind of pain.

“That would be wonderful, Peter. Thank you.”

By the time Remus and Peter made it up to the tower, James was sitting on the common room couch talking to some younger students about the quickest routes between different classes, and Sirius was nowhere to be found in the common room. He’s likely laying in bed, he seemed very tired earlier today… though he also seemed upset. I wonder what’s bothering him? Peter pulled a bar of chocolate out of his bag, handing it to Remus, smiling.

“Let me know if you want any more, I think I’ve got two more bars.” Peter sat down on the couch a moment later.

“Thank you, Peter. I think I’ll go to bed, though. Today has been rather tiring.” Remus gave a short wave to Peter and James, returning Peter’s smile. He unwrapped part of the chocolate bar and began to eat it as he walked up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, trying to think of what could be bothering Sirius. Maybe someone said something about his parents? Or someone may have said something unkind about Peter or me? In all honesty, it could have been anything, I shouldn’t be worrying too much. Remus’ thoughts stopped when he saw Sirius draped over his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers, hair a mess all over his pillow, sprawled on the bed with one hand under the pillow. God, he’s gorgeous… Remus broke from his stupor, holding the chocolate bar in his mouth, then set his bags by his bed before walking over to Sirius, pulling back his covers and spreading them over the sleeping boy. Remus sat down on the edge of his own bed and watched Sirius for a moment, wondering what had exhausted him so thoroughly. It only took him a few bites to finish the chocolate bar. He pulled out a book as he took the last bite and felt a little disappointed that it had disappeared so quickly.

He shifted back on his bed until his back was propped up against the wall, opening the book he’d been reading to the bookmark. It was a muggle book he’d borrowed from his mother, and he enjoyed the story very much. It was about a simple, calm hobbit that got pulled into an adventure he wasn’t entirely ready for, Remus related to the character a little with all of the insanity James and Sirius pulled him into. The character was relatively soft-spoken, though not to be spoken over, and very protective. Remus smiled as he curled up, enjoying a quiet evening of reading The Hobbit and listening to the sound of rain.

///Thank you for reading. I don’t know how quickly I’ll be able to get these done, But i will try my best to post every other week, they may come more often, long chapters might take a little longer. :) Have a wonderful week and take care.///

#Constellations-in-your-soul #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar #marauders #harry potter #angsty #it will have fluff eventually I promise just not right now #slowburn

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bymyside-fic · 4 years

Text

Change (~1800 words) read on AO3// AFF

- January 6, 2010 -

“Mr. Stewart,” Professor Sprout said, sighing heavily. “Please stop taunting your willow.”

Kibum leaned back, glancing down the table over Minho’s shoulders to where Callum and Aaron were. Callum’s hands were frozen in claw-like shapes just out of his potted baby Whomping Willow’s reach. “Yes, Professor.”

Minho sniffed a laugh, which drew Kibum’s attention back to him and their willow. He settled back in his stool, taking a quick peek at him and smiling before he refocused fully on the willow. The objective of today’s lesson was to find a way to calm the willow long enough so that they could water it without injury. Some were more successful than others in interacting with the baby willows, but none of the teams had actually watered it yet.

Minho scooted forward a bit on his stool, cocking his head to the side as he said, “Okay, what about this…”

He held his hand, palm out, drawing the tendrils of the whip-like branches up and away from the trunk. It strained for his hand, and with the other, he reached out to gently stroke the smooth-looking bark. Its branches fell limply around his hand after a couple of seconds of that, making it look almost like a normal willow tree.

“Get the water. Slowly,” he added when Kibum started to pour it into the terracotta pot. He lifted the beaker so that only a trickle of water poured over the rim. And, once it stopped, Minho slowly started to retract his hand. The baby willow didn’t so much as twitch as he moved away from it, but Kibum waited until Minho was completely clear of the willow before he turned over his beaker.

“Good job, you two!” Sprout said, finally looking pleased. “Five points to both of your Houses.”

Minho held out his hand for a low-five, and Kibum obliged him, smiling.

While they waited for the bell, Minho took out his textbook and Kibum his notes, and they quietly worked on jotting down the points they thought were necessary from today’s lesson. When it rang, it took Minho a minute to stuff everything back into his backpack, but Kibum just sat beside him, waiting for him to stand so they could follow the others into the Great Hall for lunch. Sprout closed the door behind them, and Minho turned at the sound. It was just a short walk back to the castle interior, but since they were alone --

Kibum grabbed Minho’s hand, smiling to himself when Minho laced their fingers together. “Studying after lunch, like usual?”

“I think that’s still the plan.”

Minho nodded, and just as they were about to reach the doorway, he stepped off the slick, well-trodden path and into the powdery snow, pulling Kibum with him. His hands settled around Kibum’s waist as he leaned against the castle wall, pulling him close until they kissed for the first time today, smiling as he did. “Thanks for your help,” he said when Kibum pulled away.

“In the lesson?” Minho nodded. “You’re the Herbology nerd. I didn’t do much.”

Minho shrugged, a boyish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Am I not allowed to appreciate you?”

“You are, I’m just sayi -- “ But Minho was kissing him again, and Kibum leaned into him, unable to keep from smiling as Minho’s arms wrapped even tighter around him.

The second bell rang before they reluctantly parted, though they held each other’s hand for as long as they could. Kibum stomped the snow off of his shoes, prompting Minho to do the same before they made their way into the Great Hall.

“See you after,” Kibum said, glancing Minho’s way before he turned to the left and started for his usual spot. Analecia's eyes were on him as he made his way over to the Slytherin table. "What?" he asked when he finally sat down and she looked away with a hint of a smirk.

"Nothing," she said, though her tone belied that. "It's just funny how little things have changed between you two."

If only she had seen them five minutes ago, then she would know that’s not entirely true… Smirking, Kibum's gaze darted across the room, finding where Minho was sitting before he looked back at her. "I mean, we can't really be open about it, can we?"

Her smile started to wane, and she blinked, looking down at her bowl of stew. "I guess I didn't think of that."

Shit. He didn't mean to make her feel bad… "No, you're right though. The only thing that's really changed has been -- "

He was cut off by Aaron and Callum joining them on the other side of the table, Callum complaining about the welt their willow gave him across the back of the hand.

"You don't have to say it," Analecia whispered, a smile returning to her voice. Kibum looked her way, smiling himself.

They ate quickly, eager to reunite with their boyfriends in the library, despite having to be stuck with the others. Analecia finished first, but she waited for Kibum to finish. Minho and Gil were on their feet almost immediately after they stood, and they met them by the doorway.

Minho greeted him with an easy smile that Kibum couldn't help but return. It was short-lived, however, as Travis, Seb, and Marvin approached. "Let's go!" Seb said, shooing everyone out of the threshold and on their way to the library.

Almost as soon as they were all situated, Minho, Analecia, Travis, and Marvin got up, no doubt in search of the books they needed to study for tomorrow's double Potions. Kibum pulled Minho's backpack up onto his vacated seat, digging through it to find their notes, some parchment and quills, and their Potions textbook.

His gaze slipped to the window as he zipped up Minho’s backpack, his hands stilling as he grabbed the handle. Huh...it was snowing again. First time since Christmas day when M --

Minho reappeared, reaching over Kibum’s outstretched arm to set his books down. “Can I sit?” he asked, a quiet laugh coloring his voice.

“No, find another chair.” He nodded and started to turn away, but Kibum cracked a smile and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Minho grinned as he moved his backpack to the floor and sat down beside him.

As he reached for the book on sleeping potions that Minho had gotten, his attention shifted to the window again. He watched the snow for a while, the occasional rasping of turning pages not enough to draw his attention back to studying. Had things not changed enough between them? Were they not doing this right?

He started when Minho’s finger grazed his hand, and when he looked down, he saw that Minho had scrawled a note into the corner of their potions notes. You okay? Kibum picked up the quill and wrote back Yeah, but we can talk about it later. Minho nodded and went back to reading.

Later didn’t come until after dinner when the study group moved to the loft. Despite the looming threat of N.E.W.T.s that all except Minho were preoccupied with, not much studying happened. Sure, their books were out and on their laps or the floor or the table, but they were sleepy after eating such a hearty dinner, and now they couldn’t concentrate much on the extensive ingredient list of the Potion for Dreamless Sleep that they were supposed to have memorized for tomorrow.

Kibum was lounging next to Minho on one of the oversized cushions, absently flipping back and forth between the pages as he tried to focus on the list of ingredients when Minho shifted a little closer to him and asked in quiet Korean. “So, what’s bothering you?”

“Hm?”

“From before.”

Kibum squinted, looking up from the page as Minho’s words registered in his mind. “Oh! Uh, it’s kinda dumb…”

“So?”

Sniffing a laugh, Kibum glanced up, meeting Minho’s curious gaze for a second before his eyes darted about the room before they settled back on the ingredient list. “It’s nothing, really. Analecia said earlier that it was sorta funny how little things have changed between us, since the Ball.”

“Ah.” Minho sat back, relaxing into the cushion. “Well, I mean, we kiss a lot more often than we did before.”

Kibum snorted, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, but he shook his head at them, and they went back to ignoring them. He looked back up at Minho, unsurprised to find him looking amused and pleased with himself. “She wouldn’t necessarily know that, though. And I think she meant other than that.”

“Yeah, true...” Kibum went back to perusing the book, reading the line Flobberworm mucus at least three times before he realized he had and moved on. “I don’t think much had to change, really, do you?”

Kibum shook his head. “Jjong said we were practically dating anyways, we just hadn’t told each other yet.”

“That...is painfully accurate.” Kibum smiled to himself, flipping the page back to once again read through the ingredient list. “So, what, do we want to start calling each other ‘babe’ now?” If the others hadn’t been in the loft with them, Kibum probably would have burst out in surprised laughter. Instead, he simply smacked Minho’s thigh, which made them both crack up. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he added once they both sobered up and the others looked away.

“It just...I don’t know…seems a bit…”

“Unnatural?”

“Yeah.”

Minho nodded, sighing. “I agree. We don’t have to do stuff just because other couples do it, right? We can just do whatever we feel like, I think.”

“I think so, too.”

“Still…” Minho let the word linger until Kibum looked up at him. “I think I’m gonna call you ‘babe’ now, just to be annoying.”

Kibum’s face immediately inflamed as soon as Minho said jagiya again and he shook his head, sucking his teeth as he pointedly looked away from him and back at his textbook. “Merlin, this kid,” he muttered in English, still quiet enough for Minho to be the only one to hear him.

Minho’s shoulders shook in silent laughter, and Kibum shook his head, sighing as he looked up to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. Just Analecia, and even then it was just a curious glance. He’d explain it to her later if she asked. But, for now, he went back to his reading in an attempt to distract himself from the thought of Minho calling him jagiya...

#Minkey #SHINee fic #SHINee au #SHINee drabble #SHINee #bonus material #bms inktober 2020 #year: seventh

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benoitblanc · 4 years

Text

tagged by @achillese (ily arya!!!) to answer some questions!

what is the color of your hairbrush? lime green, though it’s technically a comb

name a food you never eat. mushrooms. can’t deal with them

are you typically too warm or too cold? i’m always way too cold it’s awful

what were you doing 45 minutes ago? analyzing differences between the film little miss sunshine and its published script

what’s your favorite candy bar? crunchie bars!

have you ever been to a professional sports game? yes, if you count the extremely low-level baseball game i was dragged to when i was eight

what is the last thing you said out loud? "probably not”

what is your favorite ice cream? apple crisp

what was the last thing you had to drink? water

do you like your wallet? yes! it’s magenta with felted flowers on it

what is the last thing you ate? two pumpkin chocolate muffins

did you buy any new clothes last weekend? actually, yes- i got two flannels and a green sweater from kohl’s

what’s the last sporting event you watched? i don’t think i’ve sat through a sports event since that stupid baseball game when i was eight

what is your favorite flavor of popcorn? movie theatre butter

who is the last person you sent a text message to? my dad

ever been camping? yes! i went with my best friends last summer (2019) and we had a blast

do you take vitamins? yes!

do you regularly attend a place of worship? no!

do you have a tan? i tan quite a bit during normal summers because i usually spend a lot of time outside, but this summer i was unable to go to the outside place i usually spend a lot of time at, so not right now

do you prefer Chinese or pizza? i prefer dumplings to pizza but pizza to everything else chinese

do you drink your soda through a straw? i don’t drink soda, so no

what color socks do you usually wear? either plain white crew socks or brightly patterned socks

do you ever drive above the speed limit? never more than 5 above unless there’s a sudden transition from fast to slow and i don’t notice immediately

what terrifies you? failure, wasps, and gas masks

look to your left, what do you see? a wall

what chore do you hate most? picking up cat vomit

what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? my high school academic advisor, who’s australian

what’s your favorite soda? again, i do not drink soda

do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? the only chain restaurants i go to are pret and shake shack, neither of which are equipped with drive throughs (and pret doesn’t even count as fast food), so go in, i suppose

what’s your favorite number? twelve

who’s the last person you talked to? my cat

favorite meat? this is a really weird question, but steak, i guess

last song you listened to? "op. 69, ii: jauchzet dem herrn, alle welt” by felix mendelssohn-bartholdy. i’m a choral music nerd. sue me

last book you read? currently reading this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar and max gladstone, but the last book i finished was the dragon republic by rf kuang. i can’t believe we have to wait two months for book three to come out. that ending was insane

favorite day of the week? friday

can you say the alphabet backwards? yes!

how do you like your coffee? i don’t! unless it’s coffee ice cream

favorite pair of shoes? my little brown combat boots

time you normally get up? on weekdays, 8; on weekends, 9

what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunsets

how many blankets on your bed? a sheet, an afghan, and a comforter

describe your kitchen plates. very mismatched

describe your kitchen at the moment. tan walls, red accents, brown cupboards, silver appliances, lots of dishes on the counter

do you have a favorite alcoholic drink? i don’t drink

do you play cards? yes i love to play cards! favorite card games are cribbage and hearts

what color is your car? don’t have a car

can you change a tire? no

your favorite state or province? euphoria. just kidding. rhode island

favorite job you’ve had? stage management, obviously

tagging? some newer mutuals: @lukeskywalkre @thestral @deck-heart @fairydeclan @jamesbvck and anyone else who wants to do it :)

#tag game #about me

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

The Brightest Star Pt.03

Starshine Eclipsed

05/22/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,658

Masterpost Warnings: light smut, dirty talk, jealousy, language, fluff

A/N: I have never struggled so much to get a chapter just right. I rewrote a portion of this chapter three times and finally found happiness in what I wrote. I hope you like it! I know this one isn’t as popular as my other stories but I LOVE this story personally. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

What to do? What to do?

Thor feels trapped. No, not trapped. Uneasy. His mind is racing. His heart is aching. And for all it’s furious thoughts, racing by faster than light, he still doesn’t know how to react to what he’s been shown.

Tony sits watching him. Thor can sense his eyes. The sharp yet quiet gaze of his earthly friend.

His eyes watch Thor as he crosses in front of the desk from one side of the office to the other. Thor has been pacing since he saw your tragedy. Made larger by the death of your mother and stepfather.

“Why did you show me that-that horror?” Thor growls, vicious regret in his tone even though he has nothing to regret. He didn’t do anything. Yet, he was alive. When you were four and your mother put you in that abominable casket.

He wishes he’d been there even if that makes no sense. He had not even known you existed all those years ago.

“Maybe I should have let her tell you?” Tony offers, knowing full well that you would have never volunteered the information unless you were forced.

Maybe if you and Thor got serious enough you might have eventually told him.

Thor stops to stare at Tony, glaring at him but then his electric blues dim, the spark of his anger fading, as he realizes that his friend was right to have shown him.

“No.” Thor relents. “No, she would not have told me, I don’t think.”

“I don’t know her really well, but I know enough about her personality to know that she’s shut herself in. For a while she tried to get out there. Join the world. Probably what she's doing again with those two clowns you’ve seen her with.” Tony pushes away from the desk and moves around it to pull out the left side drawer. He reaches in and pulls out a small black square.

“I went to school with Henry. We weren’t the greatest of friends, but we kept in touch. He was a good man. His wife…” Tony sighs and holds the picture out to Thor who stops his pacing finally, his nails digging hard into his palms as he keeps them fisted.

He moves towards Tony and reaches for the frame, bright red welts in the heel of his hand as he takes it. He looks at it and his heart goes into arrest.

There, smiling shyly at him from between a man with an honorable disposition and the horrible woman that Thor had seen in the video, is you.

You’re wearing a dress similar to the yellow of the one you wore in the video. Sunflower bright with pretty white lace around the collar and sleeves. You’re small. Smaller than you had been in the video. You can’t be more than two and a half? Maybe three?

His eyes sting.

“She was so small.” Thor laments. The wretched darkness of your skin charring, cracking like glass, and then exploding outwardly plays itself over and over in his mind.

“I was out of town when it happened. Young. Too busy with the rest of the world to care about what happened to anyone but myself. I was still—I lost my parents really young. Nowhere near as young as Y/N, but I spiraled.

“When I heard about what happened to her, I hesitated. I let it sit for a long time. I’ve known her since she was born. Cute kid but I had no time for cute kids back then.

“When I finally looked into what happened that night, no one was willing to help me figure it out, so I went on a hunting spree. When Hydra hacked into the Surestar systems and found this video, they saved in on a mainframe at one of their bases. I stole it from there. Kept it outta Fury’s hands. Just in case.”

“You were researching to see what had been done to her?” Thor asks, intrigued but not surprised that eventually Tony reached out to help Y/N. Thor understands that his friend holds the innocent in high regard, but he also cares very much for his friends and family.

“Not until I got this video. I was just trying to find out what happened in the lab. When I saw what they did to her, I began to wonder what secret project Carne had been working on and since she was up and about I found myself stupidly curious about what they’d done to her.”

Thor runs a large thumb across the curve of your tiny face before passing the picture back to Tony.

He takes it and Tony stares at it.

“And what did you discover?” Thor wonders, splaying both hands on the edge of Tony's desk, waiting for his answer.

“I’ve got the gist of what Henry was hoping to happen. Sometimes asteroids, small pieces, and meteors fall onto Earth. He wanted to catch them before they entered the atmosphere to see if the radiation could be transformed into energy. It was a silly idea. The amount of radiation on the rocks was too weak to do anything. You’d get more power from a potato.”

Thor's brow furrows, confused by the thought of powering anything with the lumpy vegetable. “Potato?”

Tony waves the question off, shaking his head.

“Yeah so, he turned to the Earth itself. He sought out different craters of impact, searching for…” Tony reaches up to run his right hand through his already unkempt hair. He drops the picture in his left and shoves that hand into his pocket, his eyes heavy and his expression sour. “…I don’t know, some miracle rock. He finally gave up and turned back to the resources we had right here but then there was an asteroid. A big one.”

“And it fell to Earth?” Thor wonders, brow creased and voice calmer.

“A piece of it did. The majority of the asteroid went around the Earth, did a loop in orbit and just flew on by but it knocked into a satellite. It got really close. Gave the space nerds a real scare for a while. Jane would have probably been dancing for joy.” Tony gives him a teasing smirk but Thor frowns.

His mind is on you. What does Jane have to do with this?

Tony waits for some type of response. When he doesn’t get one his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he pulls a packet of gum from his pocket. He pops a piece then holds out the squares to Thor.

“Gum?” He asks.

Thor shakes his head.

“Anyway,” Tony sighs and pockets his gum. “A piece broke off of the asteroid and for a long while everyone thought the rock was just that. Normal asteroid. Nothing special. Slightly higher than normal energy signal but otherwise nothing to cause alarm or incite interest.

“Of course, Henry being who he was, he didn’t give up until he'd tested the hell outta that rock.” Tony moves around the desk and Thor follows him with quizzical eyes.

“How do you know that if you said you were otherwise occupied in selfish exploits?” The insult is veiled though honestly also almost non-existent. It's only an insult if you don’t know Thor. Tony sees it for what it is. Curiosity.

“It was all in the reports I stole. What wasn't in the reports was what Henry found in those samples he had or what he was planning to do with what he found. I’ve been searching for years but the only clue to what happened to Y/N died with Carne and Henry. She may not even know herself what happened.

“I wish she'd just let me run some tests. I know I could figure it out and help her maybe? Not that she needs my help. She seems to have this whole reclusive heiress gig worked out. And now she's got the God of Thunder on her trail? She could be doing worse. She text back yet?”

Tony stops by the door to face Thor, both hands in his pockets now.

Thor's heart pounds, remembering the stupid text he’d sent. An unimpressive hello.

He clicks the button that Nat had shown him to bring the screen to life but the small bar at the top indicates no received messages.

“No.” Thor replies with a pout.

“She's a busy woman, despite all the stalking you did, if you didn’t know who she really was then I’m sure you only saw her when she was blowing off some steam. Give her some time.” Tony offers, hoping his words will give Thor a bit of relief.

“Right.” Thor nods but looks down at his phone again.

“Bed time. Pepper’s waiting. See you in the morning.” Tony turns to leave.

“Stark,” Thor calls out and he waits for Tony to turn. “Can I keep that picture?”

Thor's not looking at Tony. He’s staring at your family portrait where you're still shy but clearly happy without the weight of the world on your shoulders yet.

“Sure. And F.R.I.D.A.Y. send Thor a copy of the video we saw tonight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Thor is already reaching for the picture but stops at Tony's words to look at him. “Maybe you might see something I’ve missed? Night.”

Thor can’t sleep. In fact, he's spent the night pacing the length of his bedroom. The sun is just cresting across the horizon painting the sky a brilliant orange, carnation pink, and sunflower yellow when his phone finally dings.

Never in his life has an innocuous series of chirps and digital beeps made his heart leap quite so fast into overdrive.

He dives for his phone, slamming his hand hard against the fancy white bedside table where his phone has been charging.

“Ow.” He mutters, shaking his left hand as he falls sideways onto the plush of his bed. “Damn.”

He reaches over and grabs his phone with his other hand as he continues to shake his throbbing fingers.

He eyes the table suspiciously. What the hell is that thing made of?

He clicks the screen and shoots to his feet when he sees your name on the screen, the preview of the message is simple. Just like his own message.

Starshine: Hi. Who is this? With a smiley face on the end.

Thor revels for a moment on the small image after your response. He'll have to figure out how to add those later. For now, heart pounding, he unlocks the phone completely and opens his messages to reply.

Thor: Good morning! It is I, Thor. Son of Odin. I’m sorry if I woke you last night from-

“No. Something cooler, Thor.” He grumbles at himself, fingers trembling excitedly over the small keyboard.

Thor: Oh, hey. It's Thor. Forgot I sent this message. I was just getting up. Almost didn’t even hear the tex-

“No!” He gripes, then growls and erases the message.

Thor: Hello, my gem. It is I. Your God of Thunder. How are you this morni-

Thor chuckles darkly, his jaw tight as he jams his thumb onto the backspace button. The screen flickers.

“Gently.” He reminds himself. Nat had warned him these devices tended to he very fragile and that if he broke the screen he'd be doomed to replace it with his own money.

With a defeated sigh, his thumbs fly across the phone, pressing the digital buttons with a deep apprehension. Is it too late to just give up?

Thor: It's Thor. Sorry I sent the message so late.

With nervous guts, twisting and coiling, Thor stares at the unimpressive message and waits with bated breath. What if you don’t reply right away?

He's saved the waiting however, as the phone vibrates too loudly in his hot hand and the dings of his alert make him jump.

Starshine: Thor! I’m so happy to hear from you so soon. I woke up this morning sure that I’d dreamt up the whole morning yesterday.

The soothing wave of relief melts the tension holding Thor's shoulders stiff and he throws himself back onto the bed. He taps his feet happily, still pressed to the floor over the edge of his mattress.

He replies quickly. Now that he knows you’re happy to hear from him, he has no reason to not reply fast, right?

Thor: There were moments when I too thought it was a dream. This is my new phone number. Be sure to save it. I hope you slept well?

He continues to hold the phone over his face with his left while he drops his right arm, hand splayed out over the ultra smooth silk silver sheets. The material is cool having sat all night without his heat to warm it.

Smiling like a fool, he waits patiently impatient for your reply.

Starshine: I slept very well. Thanks. And you?

“Fuck.” Thor breathes, nearly silent. Cursing is reserved for only the most severe of stressful situations and realizing too late that you'd reciprocate the polite inquiry of sleeping well, he now has to either lie to you about not having slept because he was waiting for your reply and watching that video of you over and over, or just tell you.

Both options are not ideal. Will he seem strange to you for it?

Thor: If I’m honest, I did not sleep.

He waits, knowing what you'll ask.

Starshine: Oh. I’m sorry. Were you working? With the Avengers? Feel free not to tell me of it's like confidential or something.

Thor smiles despite the raging yellow belly of fear he's fighting.

Thor: No. Nothing like that. My mind was simply preoccupied. I had a lot to think about.

Starshine: Was I a part of that “lot to think about" at all?

Uh oh. Nervous flutters are raging in Thor's belly and he can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. Like a boy with a crush. If he tells you he loves you, will you shun him?

Thor: You might have popped in there once or twice. Or three or seventy times.

Starshine: I was waiting all day for you to call or text. Is that weird?

Thor: No! It's not weird. I have been eager to see you again.

Starshine: Really? Me?

Gods, you are perfection. How do you not know it? Then again, if he hadn’t been looking at you right when your eyes shined with that intoxicating enthusiasm, he might not know either. Blind fool! He'd almost missed it.

Thor: Yes. When can I see you again?

Looking cool be damned. He wants to see you.

Starshine: Is this morning too soon? I’ll be at the café in about an hour. I just need to get dressed.

DONK, DONK, DONK!

Three startling knocks surprise Thor and his hands slip. The phone falls onto his face painfully crushing his nose. The corner poking his left eye.

“Ow!”

“Thor? You up?” The Captain's voice is even, strong, and very awake for the time.

Thor sits up, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, grabbing the phone in his right.

“Yes.” He booms, irritated slightly but only because his face hurts and also, he's pretty sure he knows why Steve is here.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks.

“Of course.” Thor grumbles.

The door opens and just as he suspects, Steve walks in wearing his suit. His Captain suit.

“Hey, we uh—isn’t that what you had on yesterday?” Steve asks.

Without his cowl, his blonde hair falls annoyingly perfect across his forehead. Has Steve always been that good looking? Thor frowns.

“Yes.” He replies curtly.

“Oh.” Steve continues. “Well, we got a mission. Can you meet us in Latvia?”

Thor sighs, looks down at your message, then nods as he meets Steve's storm blue eyes once more.

“Of course. I will follow shortly.”

“Great.” Steve smiles, and Thor narrows his eyes at the blonde beefcake. That is what they’re called right? Good looking men with wide builds and sturdy legs?

Thor swears he heard Natasha use it for Bucky once or twice. Under her breath of course. Never loudly enough for Bucky to hear.

As he leaves, Thor wonders if you’ve seen Steve up close. What if you secretly like Steve? He'll wait a long time before he introduces you to the team.

He'll make sure you’re absolutely in love with him before he does.

With the door shut, Thor looks down at his phone and sighs heavily with disappointment.

Thor: It seems that I am needed with the team. I’m very sorry to say I will not be able to go to the café this morning.

Starshine: Oh…okay. I mean, the world needs you right?

Thor: It would seem so. Forgive me.

Starshine: Thor, there's nothing to forgive! You have a job to do. An important one. I can see you later. Right?

Thor: Nothing would give me more pleasure.

Starshine: Great! So, how about this? When you’re done saving the world, call me?

There's a moment of pause while Thor reads your message, then his heart is twisting in a strange excruciatingly pleasant way as another message comes through.

Starshine: I wanna hear your voice.

Thor: The very moment I am back, I will call you. Wait for me.

He has to be dreaming. This can’t be real.

Starshine: I’ll wait days if I have to.

Thor's heart nearly bursts through his chest. Days be damned! He will be back before the day is out.

He gets to his feet, shoves the phone into his pocket then holds out his hand as he struts towards the large almost wall of windows. He carefully pushes the door aside as Stormbreaker lands in his hand.

The small balcony is only large enough for one chair and a spot for him to stand comfortably.

In one fluid motion he throws his arm with Stormbreaker up at the sky. It crackles and booms as he's engulfed by blinding light shifting him into full black armor, his red cape billowing in the wind as Stormbreaker pulls him up into the sky to catch up with the jet.

You’ve never really liked anyone before. Not seriously.

There was Seth of course but it had only been a crush. Maybe this thing with Thor is just a crush too?

It doesn’t feel like a crush though.

It’s stupid. You feel stupid for getting like this over a guy—no, Thor’s not just a guy but still—when you’ve only spoken to him once. Twice if you include the texts.

There’s a knock on your door. You jump. Startled out of the silence and deep thought you’ve fallen into.

“Y/N?” You know that voice but you’re not in the mood to hear it.

You can hear the soft whish of your dark wooden door, but you don’t dare look back. You remain seated where you are, at the foot of your bed on the soft gray padded bench, silver hoop legs resting on the edge of your royal plum carpet. You keep your eyes focused on the horizon. Deep blue as the evening shifts into night. There are no stars. You wish you could see the stars.

“Hey.” He says, smooth as silk, elongating the word like he’s talking to a toddler throwing a tantrum. Or like he's done something wrong.

You say nothing. Why should you? No one wants to hear you talk. No one wants to see you. Why is he here? Your phone sits beside you, screen still lit with the keyboard on full display while message after unanswered message fills the rest.

Jeremy sits beside you. He keeps the phone between you, stares at it for a second, then lifts it up to read it. He scrolls through the messages. You watch his reflection, too embarrassed and ashamed to look at his face. He's all casual today. A gray baseball tee with ocean blue sleeves. Jeans. Sneakers.

Jeremy knows you better than anyone else on this planet. Your old caretaker, your father’s most trusted employee, had been the other. Papa Roman, you’d called him. He’d been a sweet older man with dark graying hair, a tall build with arms and a chest that had hinted at a life lived healthily.

However, even exercise hadn’t kept away his heart attack and he’d passed two years after he’d hired Jeremy to watch you when he couldn’t.

Only Jeremy knows, like Papa Roman had, about what you’re truly capable of. You want to keep it that way.

Despair isn’t something you’re familiar with. You know loneliness well. You know desire and you know what it feels like to wish you had parents.

Agony?

This deep pit of pure pain that you find yourself in doesn’t feel right or good or even worth it for the time you spent knowing Thor.

“Still no reply?” Jeremy wonders, still scrolling through text after text. They’re all variations of the same message.

You: Did I do something wrong? Why haven’t you called? Are you okay?

Answering Jeremy’s question isn’t important.

He sighs, then scoots closer and drops your phone onto the edge of the carpet between your feet where it falls and rattles against the umber hardwood floors of your bedroom.

The screen is off so at least you don’t have to stare at your inability to take a hint.

“Maybe this is for the best, kid? I mean, he’s a hero, right? Wouldn’t he have tried to get you to step up?” Jeremy wonders, eyes scanning the scant, yet modern decor of your bedroom.

You don’t need much in this space even though it's large. The city skyline makes it feel full.

The doorway that Jeremy had wandered in through is to the right of your bed. It's wide, tall, and in a small squared alcove that keeps it in darkness. Overhead a single row of small round circle lights embedded into your tall dark ceiling cast a soft glow of yellow light down into the room.

It’s dim. With three walls—though really, it’s more like sections since the walls are really just one large curving flow of windows, separated by two large cylindrical columns—all made of floor to ceiling windows, you have no need for extensive lighting. You keep a lamp by your bed, just in case.

To the right of your doorway is a small sitting area. A gray modern couch, angular and sharp in its lines but soft and plush to sit on. Comfortable. With large comfy pillows and a pink throw blanket for when you get cold which is almost never.

Against the right wall of windows is a matching backless settee with white and pink pillows to match the blanket. At the center of these two seats is a large square coffee table where you’ve left your laptop, a book, and a glass of sipped water.

It’s probably stale by now.

The edges of the table are slightly more interesting as on it is a long bar of what appears to be glass with a slightly larger bit of glass towards the center, like a fin at the center of the line’s back. There’s a dim purple glow coming from the glass and several icons on the left and right side of the center, larger part of the glass bar.

To the left of your doorway, almost as soon as you come in is a small black bedside table. Modern design, shining and elegant. Then your bed, pressed against the only solid wall of your bedroom is a patted gray headboard and a low platform bed with dark gray sheets.

There’s a bit of empty space between your bed and the next doorway—your bathroom—and past that is a sturdy glass doorway that leads to a sizable balcony that wraps around a portion of your room.

The balcony is decorated. You like being outdoors and there are several seats, plants and pretty lights in minimalistic modern lanterns carefully staged to give you the sense of a small outdoor garden.

You’d spent a meticulous amount of time picking each and every flower; Peach azaleas, multicolored snapdragons, burgundy calla lilies, chamomile, pale blue chrysanthemums, orange ice geraniums, aromatic lavender, majestic midnight morning glories, pure white petunias, sunshine orange dahlias, and blush pink foxgloves. You’d made yourself a veritable Eden.

There are lots of dark corners to hide between the seats and large potted plants. You should have hidden from Jeremy out there.

“You not talking to me too, now?” Jeremy probes, nudging you with his shoulder.

You reach out with your toes and nudge your phone, pushing it so that it slides across the smooth wooden floor.

“Come on, Y/N. I know you got your hopes up about this guy, but you can’t shut down like this.” Jeremy sighs heavily, reaching over to take hold of your hand.

“I know.” You admit, hating the insecurities you’ve been wallowing in. “He was just so…I mean, eventually he might have understood me. You know? More than most people can. He was…I though he was different.”

Isn’t it human to feel things? You are human still. Just because you burn hot and because you’re like Thor, different, it doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel rejected if you’ve been rejected. “And…nine days? Without so much as a word? He promised he’d call and—never mind. Maybe I just read too much into it? Like always.”

“Y/N, you’re going to find the right guy someday. Or girl, if that’s what you want. And they're going to love every part of you. Even the bits you can’t help.” Jeremy gives your hand a squeeze and you nod.

Appeasing him might be the best way to get yourself to be alone again.

“But you can’t go skipping your meetings. I know this sucks, Y/N, but you have responsibilities. Starlux Café needs your attention.”

“Is something wrong with it?” You twist your head to look at him, worry creasing the space between your eyes as your mind finally makes room for something other than the intoxicating warmth of Thor.

Starlux Café has been your one and only true investment since inheriting your dad’s company. In a sense, the chain of cafes is your baby.

“No. Nothing’s wrong with it, but you need to be present, Y/N. This is your responsibility. You can’t just shirk it because you got dumped.” His words are harsh. They hit you sharply, making you flinch and turn away from him again.

“I’d have to have been dating him to get dumped. He didn’t even see fit to have a real first date with me.”

“Well, there you go. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass back to work.” Jeremy insists ruthlessly.

You turn a scandalized look on him only to find him grinning at you, his chiseled chin all covered in fuzzy five o’clock shadow and his round framed glasses slipping down along his straight nose.

You return his smile for all of one second because you know that he’s only trying to distract you from the pit in your stomach.

As your smile disappears, you turn towards the starless night sky, so easily visible through the wall of windows before you.

You’re filled with a strange sense of yearning and you’re not sure if it’s for the stars or for Thor, but it hurts.

With a fluttering hand you reach up to stroke the shard of gleaming black stone dangling around your neck. It's hung on a delicate silver chain.

The stone itself has got several facets and your finger searches for the front most one until it finds the slightly larger inward curve where the tip of your thumb finds the almost glass-like feel of the garnet colored gem shard within.

Jeremy’s hand finds yours again. He slips his fingers between it and the stone to pull you away from the nervous habit until his palm is pressed flush to yours. His skin feels cool against your own fevered temperature.

“You’ve been stressing.” He realizes.

Duh! How else are you supposed to feel when the possible man of your dreams sends you some flirty texts and then doesn’t call you like he promised he would?

Leisurely he slides his hand along your palm then stops when his middle finger finds its center. He traces slow tantalizing circles, your core twitching in response to the familiar indicator of what's to come.

You know what he’s going to do before he does it and you meet his dark stoic gaze. You don’t resist him as he stands, turns to you, then places his right knee to your left on the soft cushion of the bench.

He leans down towards you, bringing his handsome face mere inches from yours while he wraps his left arm around your lower back.

He lifts you up, arching your back so you're chest to chest then leads you back onto the end of the bed.

Your body sinks pressed against the mattress as Jeremy crawls over you. He hikes you up until you’re laying with your head on your pillow.

With his eyes boring into yours until he can no longer meet them, he presses a slow open mouthed kiss to your throat.

You sigh, your core constricting once more, but he gets up before you have the chance to enjoy the touch. His biceps bulge and twitch with the movement as he stands beside your bed.

He removes his glasses first, dropping them onto your bedside table before he reaches up behind his head to grip the neck of his navy and gray baseball tee and peel it away.

His body is ridiculous. You know he’s a bit of a fitness nut. He doesn’t eat things that are bad for his body which weirds you out. How do you say no to such good foods? In these moments you appreciate his dedication though, however irritating it might make him when he argues with you about what you should eat for lunch.

He kicks off his sneakers then unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the floor before stepping out of them, leaving him in a pair of tight lime green briefs with a dark gray waistband.

The sturdy fabric does little to his the rock hard bulge of his cock. Once more, your core clenches, eager to be filled.

You smile at him, amused as he climbs back over you then with skillful hands, begins to undo the large silver buttons of your long knee-length black skirt.

He starts at the bottom and slowly works his way up. Your heart pounding with every flick of his fingers.

“What are you smiling about, kid?” He asks, blinking slowly as his hands work their way up your legs. He doesn’t smile, but rather gives you a nice steady gaze. It’s so clear, the mischievous glint of his dark eyes.

Jeremy sees you for who you are. Emotionally stunted. Insecure. Afraid. Powerful. A bit of a sap. And lonely. Mostly lonely. He knows your good and your bad.

“Nice undies.” You tease and he drags his bottom lip between the edge of his teeth. He slips his hand into the open slit of your skirt. Up, up, up until he reaches beneath you towards your bottom.

He gives it a pinch. Hard.

You jump. “Ow! Jerk.”

“Don’t make fun of my underwear then.” He laughs, then grabs the waistband of your underwear to drag them down. Yours aren’t so impressive either. Just a pair of teal boy shorts.

You lift your legs as he pulls them away, slipping them off then tosses them to join his pile of clothes.

“You want me to make you feel better? Feel good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. You know that tone so well now.

You nod, slowly. Completely at his mercy in this moment, under his unwavering control. You take his lead here. In your bed. In every place he’s ever shown you the wonders of what you’d known nearly nothing about. He’s always been in control of you here.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Jeremy?” You’re too scared to look at him. He’s sitting across from you in your living room, the TV on the segmented wall to your left mounted over the unlit fireplace is playing some old movie you’re too distracted to pay attention to.

Your mind is reeling from the sight you’d stumbled upon earlier today. You hadn’t been expecting it but seeing that couple in the bathroom of your building, making those noises and saying those things when they thought no one was listening…well, it got you curious.

Your cheeks burn as you wait for him to look at you and respond. He’s busy with his paperwork. He’s so focused. So invested in your affairs. He’s been there for everything.

Over the last year, after Papa Roman had gone, he grew more determined. Devoted. Jeremy’s been with you through thick and thin.

He helped you fight for dominance in your company. To preserve your dad’s original vision and keep the jerks on the board at bay and he'd helped you cope with the loss of Papa Roman and the stresses of living life as you and your strangeness.

Will asking him this be weird? You have no one else.

No one.

“Jeremy?” You repeat meekly.

“Hm?” He mumbles, leaning far over the wooden coffee table to reach a paper with too many numbers.

“What-what is sex like?” You blink, cheeks burning, ears molten, neck on fire. You keep your eyes on his extended hand. His fingers curved around the slip of paper, now frozen.

Should you look at him? No. You can’t.

“What?” His voice isn’t outraged like you’d suspected it might be. It’s not even uncomfortable. Surprised maybe?

You chance a look and find him watching you with his brow furrowed. Dark brown eyes searching your expression for a giveaway that maybe this might be a joke?

He won’t find it.

“What’s sex like?” You swallow hard. Now that you’ve met his eyes, you can’t tear them away. Is he ashamed for you? Are you embarrassing yourself for asking him this?

Of course, you are! You know why you’ve never been able to do it. For one, you’re so withdrawn that you haven’t really connected with anyone meaningfully to want to do that. You also haven’t let yourself even think about kissing or doing anything that might bring about a reaction.

You’re dangerous. You know this. Papa Roman had the scorch scars to prove it.

“You haven’t-?”

You shake your head, wildly from side to side. Answering his question but also chasing away the stupidity if what you just asked.

“I-I’ve read about it but…” You stop, voice trailing off into silence as your energy shifts nervously.

You’re not blind. You know how hot Jeremy is and that's not helping your bashfulness.

“Why are you asking, Y/N?” He demands sternly.

“I heard a couple. The bathroom in my office was being repaired, so I went to use the one in the hallway but when I went in there was someone m-moaning and I could hear them. I saw two pairs of feet…with my condition, doing anything like that has never been an option for me. I’ve made sure to keep people at a distance for exactly that reason. I could hurt them.”

Could you be more embarrassed? Probably not. Jeremy’s face isn’t betraying whatever he’s thinking either. He’s so stoic. Thinking hard, clearly, but unaffected by your words. Maybe he doesn’t care?

You’re so used to him being here, around you, helping you, that you realize you might very well have been mistaking his dedication to his job as concern for you. Not everyone can actually care like Papa Roman—and you would never have dared ask him something like this. Papa Roman would have freaked out with worry.

Because he’s taking so long to respond, you look away from him and watch the sunlight dance along the floor. The walls behind the two of you are pure glass curve with stark white metal support beams. They allow the light of the early afternoon to filter in.

Living at the peak of your building has its perks. With so much reinforced glass, you have no need for lights during the day.

Five minutes have passed.

That’s a long time for silence. You’ve never tried to deliberately sit and wait five minutes to pass in complete silence and you realize now how terribly stressful silence can be.

Your eyes wander down to your feet and you curl in on yourself, retreating from the needless question you should never have asked.

“Never mind. I-I’m sorry I asked, I was just curious. I didn’t mean to-Ah!” Strong arms suddenly yank you to your feet.

Your shout of surprise doesn’t startle Jeremy.

In fact, he doesn’t seem phased at all.

He drags you away from your sofa and pulls you towards the kitchen open modern kitchen on the other side of your TV mounted wall.

He pulls you past it and your heart thumps heavily as you realize that the only place to go from here is your room.

Giving his arm a firm tug, you plant your bare feet on the cool and gleaming concrete floor.

“Where are we going?” You ask, terrified.

No. That can’t be what he’s doing. It’s impossible. It’s unethical. He’s your assistant! He’s paid to help you…out…?

“I’m gonna show you what sex is like, but only if you want me to.” He explains, watching your face with sudden trepidation. There’s a subtle downward curve to his lips almost as if he’s afraid you may tell him no.

“But my condition will prob-”

“I know very well what your condition is. Do you want my help, or not?” He asks, stepping closer to you.

You’re suddenly very aware of his substantial size. He’s muscular and tall. Well above average.

“I could hurt you.” You worry, voice rising in octave towards the end.

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“No.” You whisper, and he takes that as a yes.

Closing the distance between you he sweeps your legs out from underneath you with one arm and catches your back with his other one then proceeds to strut towards your bedroom.

“Jeremy…?” You begin, worried about what this might mean for your working relationship.

You can’t afford to lose Jeremy. He’s your life support! He helps you with business and now it seems he’s going to help you with your personal life even more than he already does?

“This doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. I can give you this and I hope maybe it’ll make your life a little easier.” He explains as he pushes your door open with his foot.

“But…you don’t have to, Jer. This isn’t what-I’m not expecting anything like this. It’s not your job.” You blather.

“Taking care of you is my job. And we can’t expose your condition to some outsider.” He drops in height, still holding you tight as he lowers you onto the bed. “Can you imagine the paperwork I'll have to fill out if you hurt some random dude?”

You consider it. There will be liability waivers and NDAs. Insurance and it really would be a big headache.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispers.

You consider it. You almost open your mouth and tell him that you can’t do this. It isn’t right. It’s not fair to have him do this for you. Maybe sex just isn’t something you’ll ever get to have?

Cool skin burns a trail from your right ankle, slowly up along your calf, knee, and along the soft outer flesh of your thigh. You gasp, tingling strangely where you’ve never tingled before. You feel slick and strange as your core moistens.

This you’ve felt before but never like this. Never this strongly.

“Tell me to stop.” Jeremy whispers, lowering himself closer. He’s only a few inches away from your face.

“No.” You relent, giving in to the intoxicating sensations your body is getting from the strange ice-fire of his touch.

It scalds you and Jeremy stares into your eyes, reaffirming without words that this is duty not passion, before he seals his lips to yours drawing out your ragged breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How?” He asks, grinning at the way you melt to his instruction.

He’s always been bossy, giving you tips and pointers and detailed direction. Lately he's become more demanding vocally. Asking and urging you to tell him the things you want and like. Clearly wanting you to take charge of your sexuality.

It’s sweet, in a weird sort of way.

He wants you strong. He wants you to grow.

“My fingers?” He asks, holding up his hand for you to see.

You shake your head, despite what you know he can d with those fingers.

“A toy?” He offers, giving your bedside table a glance.

You shake your head.

“You want me to rub you?”

You shake your head, tempting as having his hands on your body might be.

“You want me to eat you up, Y/N?”

A strange thrill passes through you and you nod.

“Then tell me.” He orders and you bite your bottom lip. You’re not sure about this talking in bed thing. It’s great hearing him say these things to you but you’ll probably sound stupid saying it yourself. “Come on, Y/N. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Jer, please.” You beg, he knows what you want! Why does he need to hear you say it?

“You gonna burn me if I don’t do it? Come on, kid, tell me what you want. You want me to eat your pussy?” He speaks slowly, deeply, his tone tantalizing. Your body is on fire.

He smiles, feeling the rise of heat underneath your skin.

“Come on, kid, tell me.” He whispers, teasing you this time, playfully.

“E-eat my p-p-pussy?” You tell him, your confidence waning as soon as you begin to speak the words.

“Gotta do better than that, chipmunk.” You hate that nickname. And he only uses it in bed. Bastard.

Your anger is momentary because his hand is sliding up along the inner flesh of your thigh. Your mouth pops open, your breathing heavier as the tips of his fingers slide along your wet slit.

“I wanna do it, chipmunk. You just gotta tell me.”

“Ugh, I hate you.” You growl at him, falling back completely as you wiggle against his hand.

His fingers disappear and you whine in protest. You curve to your left, staring down at him where he’s still grinning like the teasing shit that he knows he is.

You growl in frustration, then drop your defense as you plead, “Please, Jer, eat my pussy? Please?”

He smiles, wide.

“’Atta girl.” Pearly whites shining in the dim light of your room. He shifts on the bed, hooks his hands behind your knees before yanking you down a bit and then spreads your legs as he disappears into the half open fold of your skirt.

So much had gone wrong on mission. Although it could have been worse. At least the rest of the team was safe.

“It’s gonna be good to be home.” Tony confesses keeping up with Thor's flight speed easily.

Thor can understand Stark’s desire to get back. He’s got Pepper. Probably worried out of her mind.

“It is indeed my friend.” Thor agrees, eager to get home to shower and change and-

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!

They all come in at once, distracting Thor from his train of thought as he finally lands on the section of balcony outside his room.

“What the hell is that?” Tony wonders distracted by the strange noise too. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Incoming missile?”

Thor has to agree. It sounds oddly like Stark’s suit alerting him to danger.

Thor turns around to look up at the sky where Stark has stopped to float in mid-air, thrusters hissing blue fire. He looks behind Tony, searching for the threat but he sees nothing.

“Wasn’t me.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says.

“What then? Flying ice cream truck?” Tony asks sarcastically.

Ding.

One more comes through and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s finally home, back on Earth, so close to his room, or because he can see your glittering, twisted building in the distance but Thor remembers his phone.

“Oh, no.” His heart drops.

“What?!” Tony asks, on alert. He flings himself around, scanning the skies, arms raised and ready to fight.

“I forgot.” Thor gasps and he scrambles to retrieve the phone from his hidden pocket.

“Forgot?” Tony’s confused. As he flies lower to level out with Thor, he suddenly starts to laugh.

“It's not funny.” Thor growls at him but Tony is incorrigible.

He shakes his head, making the Iron Man look displeased but Thor knows that Stark is really grinning underneath that helmet.

“Please tell me you didn’t make plans with her or that you at least called her before we flew out after that maniac spaceship. It’s been almost ten days.”

As if Thor needs Stark to tell him!

He’d completely been wrapped up in the fight that he’d given chase without thinking twice about what he was leaving behind.

Forget you?

Yes, okay! He forgot you. But it was only because—oh what does it matter?!

Thor is so busy punching the side button of his phone that he’s not listening to anything Stark is saying.

Tony nods, and when Thor focuses on what he's saying, he's mid-sentence. “-good thing I designed them with that extra long battery life. Maybe I should work in a really strong signal booster? Hope you didn’t screw the pooch too badly.”

Thor does too, but he’s distracted and he doesn’t notice when Tony flies off to his own floor.

As he scrolls, Thor's eyes read faster than they’ve ever read before.

Starshine: Thor?

Starshine: Are you okay?

Starshine: You never called. I just hope you’re okay.

Starshine: I saw the news. You went off-world?

Starshine: When you get back, coffee’s on me, okay?

Starshine: There’s this new movie playing and it reminded me of you. I mean, the guy in it is tall and blonde and kinda looks like a Viking so…yeah.

Starshine: I have another book for you to read, if you want. I’ll show you when you get back.

Starshine: Is it weird to text you when things make me think of you? I feel like I’m texting you too much.

Starahine: Good morning! I had a dream that I was floating in a sea of stars last night. It was beautiful.

Starshine: You’ll have to tell me what it’s like in space. To be surrounded by all those stars? It must be breathtaking.

Starshine: Have you ever been to Pluto? They say it isn’t a planet anymore. Poor Pluto, right?

Starshine: What about Mars? Are there really aliens there?

Starshine: Wait. Aren’t you an alien, technically?

Starshine: There’s this joke I heard and it’s so silly and stupid. I’ll have to tell you when you get back.

Starshine: I’m being weird, right? It’s been days and I’m still texting you like some psycho stalker.

Starshine: I was determined to go all day without texting you but they put whip cream in my coffee and I thought of you.

Starshine: I hope you’re safe. You’ve been gone four days now. You’re coming back right?

Starshine: What kind of music do you like? Here on Earth? Have you discovered anything particular?

Starshine: I’ll make some suggestions if you want. If you don’t know where to start.

Starshine: I really am starting to feel like meeting you was a dream. A really good dream.

Starshine: OMG! You’re back! I can’t wait to see you.

“O-M-G?” Thor wonders what that might mean. And back?

He sneaks a look at the date of the message but it's five days ago.

Starshine: I’m sorry I’ve been texting so much. I was just worried.

Starshine: Am I bugging you? I’m sorry. You’re probably tired. I’ll leave you be.

Starshine: Thor? I know I should stop texting you, but I just want to know that you got back okay. They said in the news you got back yesterday but you haven’t been by the café. Did you still want to meet up?

Starshine: Did I do something wrong? Is it all the texts? The calls? I just…I don’t understand.

Starshine: Thor?

Starshine: Can we just forget all of my craziness? I’ll stop texting, I promise. Just send me a simple, ‘ok’ and I’ll know that you got back safe and I won’t bug you anymore.

Starshine: What did I do? Do you know? About my company? Who I am? Is that it? I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just…people find out what I do for a living and they react. They don’t treat me the same anymore.

Starshine: I get it. You’re upset maybe? I’ll wait at the café for you. All day if I have to. Just give me a chance to explain myself. Please? I promise if you don’t want to talk to me after I’ve said my piece, I’ll leave you alone.

Starshine: I know that if you didn’t come you probably want nothing to do with me. I’m sorry I’ve bugged you so much and I’ll stop texting you now. It was nice to meet you. Again, I’m sorry. Really sorry.

And one final text message that came in yesterday.

Starshine: Thor?

Thor scrolls all the way back to the top again and then all the way back down as if a new message will appear. One for today. There has to be one for today. And you’ve been begging him to reply!

Is there any way to feel more awful about the way your excitement seems to have died, even via text? He hadn’t meant to forget. It just…what news reports?

Thor storms his way into his room but opts to forget the shower in favor of finding out what the hell it is you were talking about.

It’s also so late that you have to be asleep. He can call you tomorrow to avoid waking you. He places Stormbreaker by his door as he leaves.

The kitchen is packed. Tony and Pepper stand behind the counter—Tony’s hand moving from side to side along the small of Pepper’s back—while Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Vision lounge by the dining table. Nat turns towards him as he marches in, perched on Bucky’s lap.

Guess things went well for them?

Bucky shifts his metal arm around her waist as Nat twists to turn and look at Thor.

“Hey Romeo, go see your girl yet?” She playfully queries, sending a painful spike through Thor’s chest.

The sudden shift of expression on each of his friend’s faces tell him that his own is probably somber. Steve is the one to step forward, looking more concerned than anyone else.

“Yeah, did you read all those messages?” Stark asks making Thor frown more deeply.

“Y/N said something about new stories in her messages. She said that Stark and I returned five days ago when we clearly did not.” Thor ponders, confused and worried.

“Oh, that.” Nat begins but she turns her gaze on Steve.

“We fed the news to the larger stations so that our enemies wouldn’t know that two of our strongest members were off-world. It keeps the riffraff at bay. Why? Did it cause a problem?” Steve wonders, his storm blue eyes genuinely concerned.

Thor looks down at his phone, sighing in defeat. “Y/N…she thinks we’ve been back for four days and that I have not been returning her texts because she did not tell me about her wealth. I just got the messages now.”

“I’m so sorry, Thor. I-” But what can Steve say? It’s not like he did it with the intent of hurting you. He was being practical about the threats that Earth faces on a daily basis.

“No.” Thor cuts him off, his worry increasing as he thinks over what you might be feeling this very moment.

He would never not respond to you. Surely it had been clear how much you were of interest to him, right? The looks he gave you, the few words of clear affection that he said to you, they were enough to keep the darker thoughts at bay, were they not? “No. I should have called her before we left.”

“Well, you said she’s nice right? Sweet?” Sam wonders, moving to lean against the back of a chair. “I’m sure she’ll understand. Just tell her it’s Steve’s fault.”

“Way to go, Steve. Smoothest cat with the ladies. Even the ones in your periphery.” Bucky chortles, shaking his head.

Steve tilts his head to one side, sorry for his part in whatever trouble might come from this misunderstanding.

“Right…I’m-I’m sure she’ll understand.” Thor nods, forcing his lips into a small smile that does not meet his eyes. “Excuse me. I’m going to shower.”

“Sorry, buddy!” Steve calls out after him, but Thor is at a loss. Every step that he takes back to his room fills him with more dread.

He wants you. He wants you so badly that he can taste the sweet scent of you even though he hasn’t seen you in days. He wants to shower you with affection and love and maybe he’s jumping the gun, but love is most certainly what this is, right?

He wouldn’t feel like dying this way if it wasn’t love.

No. He can’t wait.

He can’t leave you wondering.

If it were him and you’d disappeared for days on end and never replied to one of his messages he’d have already been scouring the globe for you.

He’d be out of his mind with worry and self-doubt and that is not acceptable. He can’t be one of the reasons you feel that way.

Thor turns, shifting towards his balcony and holding out his hand. Stormbreaker flies into it. Once he’s outside again, he thrusts the hammer upwards and Thor is pulled from the spot.

He flies with purpose, wasting no time getting to your building. He rounds the top, spotting a smaller balcony with lots of flowers blooming despite the cold of the growing winter. The air nips and bites at his skin but he shifts his weight and flies straight for that balcony.

He lands as quietly as he can, hoping not to wake you if you have managed to get some sleep.

He can see the soft glow of light and he follows it.

“Do you feel better now?” Another voice asks. A male voice.

Probably just your assistant. It’s not weird that he’s here at this time of night. He works for you. Thor’s mind is quick to reason.

“A little.” Your sweet voice mumbles.

“Oh, jeez, thanks.”

You laugh. Easy and smooth and rich. He wants you.

Thor’s heart breaks. That beautiful laugh! He has to see you.

Very slowly he sidles along the large countless potted plants. He shifts between two long cushioned blue seats and peeks into the room you’re in between two large bushels of some peach colored flower.

The anger that courses through Thor is like a stranger. Once felt but long since forgotten. He remembers this feeling. This cutting emotion that poisons his heart to clench painfully. The sharp sting that falls along his spine drives his hand into a hard fist around his axe. His hand sparks and burns, saturating the air with the smell of ozone.

There you are, looking beautiful…and naked. Your bare back exposed for him and your assistant to see. You’ve got the sheets of your bed positioned carefully so that your breasts are not exposed but you are naked.

The man with you is also naked but Thor tries not to look at him for fear of marching inside to tear out his ribcage and pull it through his chest.

You’re smiling. Up at him. That man.

“Sorry. I’ve just…You did make me feel much better. Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Thor can’t listen to this much longer.

“I have my sources.” The man teases.

Thor tears his eyes away from you, looking down at his feet in favor of the shattering image of you beaming, shining like gossamer moonlight and naked with another man.

However, you’re not his. Why should he feel like this? Possessive to the point of wanting to tear that man limb from limb?

Thor knows he has no right.

“Do you have to go home?” Your smooth voice asks.

It’s quieter, more intimate and that draws Thor’s eyes up once more. He's imagine you speaking to him softly like that. Wanting and filled with desire.

The man is hovering over you, pushing you back to lay against your pillows. He settles between your legs. His hand traces the exposed flesh of your ankle all the way up to the base of your knee.

He pushes against it, spreading you wide as he ruts against you once.

No! Despite the shattering image, Thor can appreciate your perfection.

You’re a goddess, dewy skin and sparkling eyes. They dance with starshine again but Thor hates that it’s your assistant giving you that sparkle.

“Do you want me to go home?”

“Not really. I-I want you to make me feel even better.” You whisper, waning confidence.

“Oh, chipmunk, all you gotta do is ask and I will give you whatever you want.”

Thor can’t listen. He turns to move away but he’s not fast enough. Before he can thrust Stormbreaker back towards the sky to get away, you moan loudly as the man with you probably presses himself against you again.

Your lilting voice confident and breathy says, “Fuck me, Jer. I really want you to fuck me.”

The sky cracks open, spilling waves of searing lightning around the apex of your building. As he disappears into the starless black trying to leave the horrid image of you in the arms of another man, ice-cold rain showers down to a deafening chorus of thunder.

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orangeoctopi7 · 5 years

Text

A Minor Inconvenience

@stanuary Week 3 is dreams, so I dusted off a little ficlet I stated on my mission and never finished. I think it fits with the theme.

Inspired by this comic: http://tateratots.tumblr.com/post/144146684592/so-what-if-stan-gains-some-of-bills-powers-and-it

It had been a long time since they’d started their journey. They didn’t think there was anything to worry about anymore. They’d left the nightmare that was the end of last summer behind. They both still had actual nightmares, of course, but that was nothing new, really. Sure, some of Stan’s were a little too real, a little too different from the rest, but he shrugged it off. What was ‘normal’ to a dream, anyway? So they sailed along, going about their business, until the fact that something was up became undeniable.

The night had started off normally enough, with the twin brothers playing a game of Egyptian Rat Slap. Stan, deciding that a stinging red welt on the back of the loser’s hand wasn’t prize enough, proposed a wager.

“Loser does the winner’s chores for a week.” He said.

Ford contemplated the offer for a moment.

“Including dish duty?” The old scientist asked.

“Well yeah, what other chores are there? You’ve got nerd gadgets rigged up to do everything else on this boat.”

“Not everything. There’s still cleaning and maintaining said gadgets, not to mention the bathroom and--”

“Hey we can go over the details and junk later, have we got a deal or not?”

“Alright, it’s a deal.” Ford said, extending his arm to shake on it.

“Deal!” Stan agreed, extending his own hand. Only something was wrong. It was enshrouded in blue flames.

Ford jerked back with a yelp, while Stan just stared in bewilderment as the flames died away.

“What the heck was that?” Stan wondered, looking to his brother for an answer as he often did when they ran into paranormal shenanigans on their voyage. Only Ford wasn’t standing there taking notes with an excited grin as he usually did. He was backed up against the wall, watching his brother cautiously.

“Uh, Ford, you ok?”

“Stanley?” Ford asked warily, unsure of who he was really talking to.

This was lost on Stan. “Uh, I’m good. Didn’t get burned somehow.”

Ford moved so he was between Stan and the exit and pulled out his penlight. “Come here.” he demanded curtly.

It took Stan a few seconds to realize what his brother was getting at, but he sighed in exasperation the moment it dawned on him. “Seriously? I’m not--” But it looked as though Ford would check by force if necessary. Stan stepped over, his hands in the air placatingly, and let Ford shine the light in his eyes, searching for the tell-tale yellow. But the scientist couldn’t find anything; Stan’s eyes were their usual earthy brown color.

“There, you feel better now?” Stan asked, rubbing his eyes.

“This doesn’t make any sense…” Ford murmured to himself, then noticed his brother’s discomfort. “Stan, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be, I’ve got a headache now.”

Ford still looked troubled.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Stan comforted his brother, “Bill’s gone, we killed him, remember?”

“Yes, I remember, but you shouldn’t! I’m glad that you recovered, yes, more than I’ve been about anything, but if your memories weren’t completely erased, how can we be sure Bill was? What else could explain what just happened?”

“I dunno, something else?” Stan shrugged. “There’s gotta be other things that make blue fire, right?”

Ford looked ready to launch into a lengthy explanation of exactly how many other things make blue fire and why none of them fit this situation.

“I just don’t want you to fall into that same crazed paranoia I found you in before… you know….”

Ford shifted his gaze, ashamed, “I’ll never let that happen again.”

“Neither will I.” Stan promised him.

“Then will you let me do one more thing to ease my suspicions?”

Stan groaned. “It doesn’t involve getting hooked up to some of your science junk, does it?”

“No, in fact it involves you going to bed early.” Ford assured him.

“I like the sound of that.”

**Linebreak**

Stan was usually the first to fall asleep and the last to wake up on top of being a frequent napper. Yet he had a hard time falling asleep on demand. Ford watching him didn’t help.

“Could you find something else to do while I’m trying to fall asleep?” The old con man asked irritably, “I can’t relax with you here.”

“I’m usually here when you sleep.” Ford pointed out.

“Yeah, in the other hammock, not staring me down like some hungry owl!”

“Well I’m not leaving you alone until I figure out what caused that phenomenon earlier!”

“Y’mean my hand catching fire.”

Ford sighed and pulled out a large textbook.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Stan gasped, trying to call his brother’s bluff.

“Transition State Theory made a breakthrough in the early 30’s when three independent researchers, Eyring, Polanyi, and Evans, each derived the same equation based on the assumption that activated components are in quasi-equilibrium with the reactants, and thus can be described with a classical thermodynamic treatment.”

“You play dirty.” Stan grumbled through a yawn.

“This is not always true, as has been shown in semiconductors and insulators where the initial excited state may exceed the energy of the saddle point. However, where Potential Energy Surfaces are concerned, the equation is viable, and is thus derived. Consider the reaction…” Before Ford had finished the first step, Stan was asleep.

Ford put his book down and quickly pulled out candles for the spell. Once they were all lit, he recited the incantation to enter into the dreamscape.

The old researcher didn’t know exactly what he expected to find in his brother’s mind. He’d heard Mabel, Dipper, and Soos recount how they entered Stan’s mind to chase Bill earlier last summer, but he hadn’t expected to see the same thing tonight. Minds were transient, constantly changing as personal experiences added to the mental landscape. Stan had been through enough in the few months since then to completely change the face of him mindscape many times over.

Still, whatever Ford had or hadn’t expected, it wasn’t this.

He stood on the deck of a ship, at once like their own and yet infinitely bigger and grander. It sailed on a dark, foreboding sea, and a large fishing net was currently dropped over the side, trawling for what, Ford could only guess. Strewn about the deck were many treasure chests of all shapes and sizes. Stray thoughts flew about like seagulls overhead.

I’m gonna get him for that book trick. Ford heard one call. He couldn’t help by smirk.

Don’t get so smug, Poindexter, you’re on my turf now! Another thought sounded overhead.

Ford’s smirk switched to a look of surprise. Stan’s mindscape seemed to be aware of his presence. He decided to try a little experiment and walked over to the net to examine it.

“I wonder what this does?” He said aloud. Immediately a pulley started to bring it up from the depths. A few small chests were tangled inside. Ford reached up and pulled the net over the deck, emptying the catch out at his feet. He picked up the smallest chest and, unable to resist his curiosity, opened it.

The inside was like a tiny window into another time and place. He saw a slightly younger Stan and a much younger Soos.

“Who the heck’s that brat tearing up my dirt parking lot with his mountain bike?” Stan asked.

“Oh, that’s my cousin Reggie.” Soos replied.

“Would you care if I shot rock-salt at him?”

Ford closed the lid and put the chest down. “So they’re memories.”

You coulda just asked, genius.

And

Gotta tell Soos I remembered his bratty cousin’s name.

Called out from the seagulls above.

“I must say, Stan, I’m impressed by how aware you are of everything here.” Ford complimented him.

The seagulls cawed out stray thoughts proudly, mostly falsely modest acceptance of the praise.

“You know why I’m here. Can you help me find Bill, or whatever caused that phenomenon earlier?”

The gulls’ cawing became more nervous.

No Bill here!

I have no idea what’s going on!

Just dreams, nothing to worry about.

It’s probably nothing.

I don’t want him to worry.

Ford’s expression hardened. “What dreams?”

Then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, a little wedge of yellow no larger than a cornchip, wiggling out from the confines of the net he’d just pulled up and scrambling across the deck. Ford sprang into action and pounced on it just as it reached the corner of the cabin.

“You!” He cried angrily, trapping the tiny triangle beneath his sizable hand, “I knew it had to be you!”

Then another, slender, black, inhuman hand grabbed onto the tiny triangle and plucked it from his grasp.

“I’LL TAKE THAT, SIXER.” Bill said.

To say Bill looked worse for wear was an understatement. The triangle was missing several of the bricks from his pyramid-esque form. Ford watched the piece he had caught scurry up and take its place at the apex.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. He couldn’t help but think.

“I WAS WONDERING WHEN YOU’D FIGURE OUT I WAS STILL HERE.” Bill said.

“How did you survive the memory erasure!?” Ford demanded, cutting straight to the chase.

Bill laughed sardonically. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA! SURVIVE? I WAS SHATTERED INTO PIECES, AND THEN EVERY PIECE BURNED UNTIL NOT EVEN ASHES REMAINED!!” The triangle yelled, suddenly glowing an intense blue. “LUCKILY I KNOW A GUY IN THE DEATH BUSINESS, SO I ASKED FOR A FAVOR. AND BOY, IT IS JUST LIKE XOLOTL TO CHEAP OUT ON ME AND ONLY RESTORE ME TO THIS PITIFUL STATE.”

“I don’t care what sort of state you’re in, get out of my brother’s mind now, or I’ll--”

“OR YOU’LL WHAT, IQ?” Bill mocked. “YOU ALREADY DESTROYED YOUR LAST WEAPON AGAINST ME!”

But Ford recalled Stan’s story about his confrontation with Bill, and one of the last things Stan remembered doing.

“I don’t need a weapon.” The scientist said defiantly, dealing a powerful straight-armed punch to the dream-demon. Bill shattered again into dozens of tiny bricks. The seagulls above cawed excitedly and dove down onto the deck, pecking at the little pieces as they scattered.

“SHATTER ME ALL YOU WANT!” Bill’s voice echoed from every piece. “I’LL JUST PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER LIKE I DID BEFORE!”

The screaming was silenced as the gulls scooped up the pieces and dropped them back over the side, into the dark water of the ocean.

Ford watched the gold flecks disappear beneath the waves and into the abyss. Bill’s last cry still left an unsettling lump in his gut. If the demon had come back before, what was to stop him from doing it again? What permanent solution could there be?

**Linebreak**

Ford awoke first. He was back on his feet in an instant, shaking his brother awake.

“Uhg… I just had the weirdest dream. You were up on deck fightin’ Bill, and there were seagulls everywhere… and Soos’s cousin was there for some reason?”

Ford looked at his brother like a doctor about to give an awful diagnosis.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“Well, technically it was a dream, but it was real.”

Stan thought he’d feel better if he had just found out he had a terminal illness.

“So… that thing… really is still in my head?”

Ford nodded grimly.

“What’re we gonna do?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Was all Ford could reply. He plopped down on the hammock next to Stan, and they both sat in silence for a few moments. “What’ll we tell the kids?” Stanford finally asked his own question.

“I don’t think we should tell ‘em, not yet anyway.” Stan replied.

“They have a right to know, Stan. They’re just as involved with this as we are.”

“I don’t want ‘em to worry about it, especially if we don’t have all the facts yet.”

“They might be able to help us. They’ve done well handling Bill on their own in the past.”

“They’re just kids, Stanford!” Stan yelled, “They shouldn’t have to handle Bill at all! They should be free to enjoy being young while they still can!”

“Well, ideally, yes, but we’re not dealing with ideal circumstances here!” Ford argued. “This goes beyond our family; if Bill could return we’ll have the whole multiverse to consider!”

“Well you don’t know that it’s that bad yet, genius!” Stan shot back, “It’s been months, and this is the first time anything has happened. For all we know he could just be a minor inconvenience! And until we do find out just how bad it is, I don’t want to worry the kids about it!”

Ford couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A minor inconvenience!? This is Bill Cipher we’re talking about! The extradimensional being who nearly brought time and space to an end! Master of the Nightmare Realm, feared throughout the multiverse!”

“Yeah, and now he’s a pathetic pile of poo that can’t even pull himself together without my mind pulling him apart again!”

“This time, yes, but how can we know he won’t pull himself together again? What will he be capable of if he gets more of himself together?”

“This time and every time he’s tried it so far!”

“What!?” Ford asked in shock. “What do you mean every time? This has happened before!?”

Stan’s face fell, as though he’d just said something he wasn’t supposed to. “I… ok I’m not really sure, but… maybe?”

“Maybe isn’t good enough, Stanley!” Ford shouted, “Not where Bill’s involved! What if he does something to hurt you?”

Stan sighed in frustration, “I’ve had these kinda dreams before, ok?”

Ford’s anger abated just a bit. He’d heard something about dreams in Stan’s mindscape.

“You’ve been having dreams about Bill?”

“I didn’t know it was him until just now.” Stan explained. “I’d just have dreams where there were pieces of gold, or corn chip crumbs, or LEGOs scattered all over the deck, and they’d start gathering themselves up. But they never got far before seagulls or crabs or gnomes or something threw them back into the sea. I never really figured out what it meant until you were there and started fighting him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I told you, I didn’t know it was Bill. I didn’t know it was important… and I didn’t want you to worry.”

Ford’s first instinct was to be mad. Stan had been withholding important information and now his worst nightmare was becoming a reality. But he had learned over the past few months that his first reactions of anger never led to anything good. He had to stop and look at things from Stan’s perspective. His brother really hadn’t known, and certainly hadn’t meant any harm.

“Can you tell me any time you have this dream again?” Ford asked.

“Of course I will, what do you take me for?”

A hysterical little laugh bubbled it’s way out of Ford unbidden. “I-I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t mean to be so… difficult about this. I know it can’t be easy for you either. That demon’s in your head after all. It’s just… Stanley, this terrifies me!”

To be perfectly honest, it terrified Stan too. But he knew he had to be strong for Ford’s sake right now. Couldn’t have them both breaking down. And what’s more, now that he knew little bits of Bill were floating around in his mind, he couldn’t show any weakness.

“Yeah, of course it does. I’d be more worried if it didn’t.” Stan agreed, “But we’re gonna get through this together, ok? I got him under control for now, right? We just need to make sure it stays that way and find some way to get him out.”

Ford nodded. It sounded so simple and logical when Stan put it like that. He could work with simple and logical.

“In that case, we’ve got a lot of research to do!”

#Stanuary 2019 #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Bill Cipher #Fanfiction #This jerk #sea hobos canon #My Writing

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averysopinionletstalk-blog · 5 years

Text

Racism Didn’t Exist

I was a young black boy raised in the in the hood of Baltimore, MD. My mother raised me to be different – to be better than my surroundings. She raised me not to see race or the color of someone’s skin. Only to see people for who they were.

With that upbringing, I gravitated to people that were slightly “different”. I loved to be around whites and people of Hispanic descent, gays and lesbians, and nerds. I never discounted my own race. In fact, I was every bit a part of my neighborhood and the people that came along with it.

Looking back, I’ve experienced several racist incidents that should have reminded me of the color of my skin, but I believed that racism didn’t exist. I lived in a world where we all could just get along – I was wrong.

Back when I was in middle school, I had to catch the bus from West to East to attend Lombard Middle School. One evening before catching the bus, I decided to stop in a local store. The owner, a tall and thick Caucasian guy began screaming at me to clean up a mess outside of his store. Of course, I refused to clean a mess that I didn’t make. He became increasingly upset and turned beet red and swiftly smacked me across the face with a broomstick. I was hit so hard that a welt immediately appeared across my cheek. I instantly cried from the shock, embarrassment and pain. After consulting my mother, I called the police. When they arrived, they “pretended” to arrest my assailant. The next day, I saw the same guy and never again heard of the incident.

Another incident comes from when I was 18 years old. I was in the Fells Point area of the city. I was there alone shooting pool. A white guy came to me and asked to play for money. I respectfully declined. He instantly became outraged and threw a pool stick at me. We began to fight as his two friends joined him in the brawl. During this fight, I was hit with a cue ball and I responded by shattering a glass over his head causing a three-inch laceration. When the police arrived, I was immediately arrested. The owner of the establishment and multiple witnesses came to my defense. The cop then stated, if you don’t like my decision, you can contact the commissioner. Let’s let this sink in – I was alone, attacked with weapons, and had to fight multiple people. Yet, I was arrested.

Until, a few years ago, I never viewed this as racially motivated incidents. To me, they were just unfortunate.

Let’s fast forward. July 14, 2012, I received a phone call that forever changed my life. My son, DeVonte, was shot by the police. Unfortunately, he did not survive. During this shocking incident, his mother and her family wanted to protest, and I could not understand why. Even though he was in the process of changing his life, my thinking was, if he was not doing his dirt, he may still be alive. That doesn’t change the fact that I will never get another Father’s Day card or hear, “I love you Pops” - something he affectionately called me. I didn’t know that shortly after, his mom and I would find out he had a 5-year-old son that he would never meet.

DeVonte was an awesome, loving, and caring person but he was also a former drug dealer in the Park Heights neighborhood of the city. I was completely oblivious to the fact that police were often viciously killing black men across America and other countries. To me, racism just didn’t exist.

Shortly after the DeVonte’s passing, I began hearing more and more about young black people – especially men – dying at the hands of cops. One day before his one-year death anniversary, the Black Lives Matter social movement began. The purpose is to bring awareness to the frequency of police brutality towards blacks.

In the United States, African Americans represent approximately 13% - Caucasians 61%.

According to NBC News (backed by several other sources), “African-Americans died at the hands of police at a rate of 7.2 per million, while whites are killed at a rate of 2.9 per million”.

It took some hard facts for me to realize, racism does exist.

(https://www.nbcnews.com/health/health-news/police-killings-hit-people-color-hardest-study-finds-n872086).

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mysticalreadingnerd · 6 years

Text

Let Me Warm Your Heart Part 10

Words: 1311

Summary: A wavering mind, shaky confidence and mangled hands. All of this is not new for Credence. But a healing touch and bestowed symbol can work wonders. It can also be dangerous

Warnings: mentions of parental abuse, Credence angst

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantastic Beasts or any of its characters, except the OCs I create. Nor do I make any profits from this besides a sense of accomplishment that my boy is happy. If I did earn, I could kick back and relax instead of dying under law school pressure. GIF credits to the creator.

"Do you think I'm a freak?" Credence asked the enigmatic man in front of him with awe and a slight sense of trepidation, awaiting his answer with bated breath. The memories of his encounter with Senator Shaw came rushing back in his mind, the contempt and derision in his voice echoing in his head. His chest constricted at the possibility that even Graves might consider him worthless and an oddity.

"No" the older man replied, pulling him out of his toxic thoughts, "I think you are a very special young man or I wouldn't have asked you to help me, now would I?" He paused and placed his hand on his arm. Credence was startled by the sudden touch. His mind harkened back to all the gentle caresses that Y/N bestowed upon him. It had been so long since he had been treated this way that he pined for more.

"Have you any news?" Graves questioned in a conspiratorial whisper, the shadows lengthening across his face in mysterious ways.

"I am still looking. Mr Graves, if I knew whether it was a girl or a boy..."

But the older man interrupted him, "My vision showed only the child's immense power. He or she is no older than ten, and I saw this child in close proximity to your mother - she I saw so plainly."

"That could be any one of hundreds." Credence frowned, wondering for the umpteenth time whether he would ever be able to find this kid, whether he was even suited carry out such an important task.

Graves replied in a softer tone, "There is something else. Something that I haven't told you. I saw you beside me in New York. You're the one that gains this child's trust. You are the key - I saw this. You want to join the wizarding world. I want those things too, Credence, I want them for you. So find the child. Find the child and we'll all be free."

That memory seemed like a lifetime ago to Credence now. The surge of self-confidence that it used to invoke in him was withered by his most recent beating. His breath quickened at the thought of his mother lashing him with his own belt.

And to top it all, he had heard no word from Y/N. The worry had long since degenerated into self-doubt and blame. He wondered where he had gone wrong for her to leave him like this, because surely, he was the most likely root cause of her sudden disappearance. For an angel like her to give up on him, he must have messed things up pretty badly.

He felt the helplessness of it all settling upon him like a dead weight, a heavy shroud lined with threads of misery and loneliness. The crushing feeling in his chest returned manifold as he pasted another poster advertising the next meeting.

An abrupt crack resounded in the alleyway where he was standing & he was startled out of his depressing thoughts by the appearance of Graves. With an urgency quite unlike him, the wizard approached Credence and demanded, "Have you found the child?" That question in itself brought forth all his latent insecurities and broke his self-restraint. He whimpered, "I can't." He choked on the sobs threatening to burst from his mouth. He was bound to mess up again just as he had with Ma, with Y/N, with everything.

Comprehension dawned on Graves' handsome face and he said, "Show me." At the thought that he was soon to receive another reprimand, a whimper escaped Credence and he cowered into the wall, wishing it would swallow whole his pitiful existence.

Surprisingly, the wizard took his hand gently into his own and with a caress, cast a spell. The welts and bruises vanished and the pain subsided into nothingness. "Shhh. My boy, the sooner we find this child, the sooner you can put that pain in the past where it belongs."

He moved closer to the younger boy almost as if to embrace him. Credence tensed up. Graves snaked his fingers around his neck, brushing his nape in an almost seductive manner before clicking something in place."I want you to have this, Credence." He looked down to see an unnaturally glinting triangular symbol hanging on a delicate chain around his neck.

"I would trust very few with it - very few...but you- you're different. Now, when you find the child, touch this symbol and I will know, and I will come to you. Do this and you will be honoured among wizards. Forever."

Credence looked at the older man with reverence in his gaze and clutched the locket as he nodded. "And I sense your heart's desire, someone that you seek..." Graves stepped back into the shadows again. All but his eyes were visible, which shone like onyxes tempered in the fires of hell.

Could it be possible? Could he truly know what had happened to Y/N? Tendrils of hope snaked their way into his heart, as if it were a fluttering bird being engulfed in the coils of a snake. "Name it, that what you seek. Your hopes may be answered. Though not in the way you wish." Credence blinked at the words, not understanding their meaning. What...

But the wizard had already disappeared, leaving a baffled Credence staring at the locket with a mixture of confusion and longing. He watched the symbol dangling on the chain and made up his mind. He had nothing more to lose, all he could do was whisper in a faint voice the mantra that used to calm him. "...Y/N", he waited for a beat, wondering whether he had interpreted Graves incorrectly & done the enchantment wrong or if he was a fool to get his hopes high again. Jumping to conclusions like an idiot was just like him...

But a faint voice crackled from the locket, as if a disembodied entity had possessed it. He had the urge to throw it away immediately but on hearing his surname he brought the symbol closer. "...interacting with the eldest of the Barebone children with a view to gain knowledge of the original subject of investigation, Mary Lou Barebone." His eyes widened, this was unmistakably Y/N's voice. But what was she talking about?

"...managed to gain his trust...acquiring information... Credence is an important informer..." The world starting spinning around him and with a shaky hand he grasped at the wall for support. "There was nothing more to those interactions than mere information acquiring."

That was the final nail in the coffin. His heart constricted painfully and his ears rang with a cacophony quite misplaced in the quiet surroundings. It had all been a lie. Y/N, if that had even been her name, had done all of it just to get information on his mother. She had never cared. And she never would.

It was just a façade. An illusion to use him, gullible and foolish as he was to be enraptured by the sweet words and caring touches. Y/N's cheerful face arose in his mind's eye, the smile that had captivated him for so long suddenly twisted into something more sinister, a sly twinge marring the beautiful features into wickedness.

All the memories that had been a source of happiness until now were poisoned with despair. And a hollowness filled his stomach, a pit that felt a thousand times worse than days spent on an empty stomach because his Ma was angry at him and denied him food.

The tears cascaded down his cheeks, hot and salty. His breath came out in strangled puffs in the December air. The earlier pain would have been welcome now, it was almost comforting in contrast to these suffocating, gut-wrenching stabs that filled him at Y/N's betrayal. With a sob that was quite unlike anything human, Credence's upturned world turned black.

A/N: Let me know how you found it and also if you want to be added to the tag list! Some names couldn't be tagged, check your settings to allow it. Please excuse any typos that may have crept in. Feedback is my drug and reblogging always soothes my anguished soul.

~mystical reading nerd

Tags: @mysticracoon @multifandom-slytherin @retardedhumanhere @thequeerishere555 @daeshaunex2 @itssophmcintosh @strangebyers @jnecrobutcher @aubri1313 @watson-38 @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @thesiriustoherremus @bookowlextraordinaire @buzzfeedunwheezed @smashleytaylor @thegoodstrangemindhunter @wine-anon-2 @angstyang

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bloodthirstylacus · 6 years

Text

Tagged by a nerd

Rules: answer 20 questions so your followers can get to know you better, and tag 20 other people you’d like to know better

And tagged by this dork @elyon-kurae

Name: Gregory Thompson (fun fact!)

Nicknames: Greg, dad, bro, dork

Zodiac sign: Taurus

Height: 5 ft 6

Languages spoken: English, Spanish (I'm awful at it), French, a lick of German and a few other languages that aren't coming to mind right now

Nationality: American

Favorite fruit: Fresh homegrown blueberries

Favorite season: Summer

Favorite scent: Lavender

Favorite colour: Purple

Favourite animal: All of them

Favorite fictional character: Noelle Siver ( Black Clover), Lacus Welt, of course ( OnS), (am I allowed to add ocs? Yes?) Elyon (@elyon-kurae ) and Tatsu Bathory (@tatsu-rose-bathory )

Coffee, Tea, or Hot chocolate: black tea and hot chocolate

Number of blankets you sleep with: Two

When was your blog created: 1 crazy ago

Currently watching: Voltron, Futurama (again for like the 17th time)

Favorite band: Skillet, Evanescence, Breaking Benjamin, Kiss, Guns & Roses, Linkin Park, and a tonna other bands

Instruments played: I've played quite a lot of instruments though

Favorite book: Canterbury Tales or Date's Inferno

Tagging: @lacusthebae (my twin, taggy taggy), @k-ureto @demoncompanydad @selfxloathingxvamp @yuichiroswife @ everyone else who wants to do this!

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renegaderoots · 6 years

Photo

BASIC INFORMATION

☠┋FULL NAME: Avery J. Williams ☠┋PRONUNCIATION: A-vree ☠┋NICKNAME(S): Avy, Av, AJ ☠┋TITLE: The Sleepwalker ☠┋OCCUPATION: Drug dealer ( see also: fortune teller, singer, waiter) ☠┋~AGE: 18-28. Plot dependent. ☠┋DATE OF BIRTH: 23rd October ☠┋GENDER: Cisgender ☠┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/His ☠┋ORIENTATION: Homoromantic Homosexual ☠┋NATIONALITY: English ☠┋RELIGION: Christian ☠┋SPECIES: Human ☠┋THREAT LEVEL: Moderate (not malicious, sometimes violent, defensive and aggressive)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

☠┋FACE CLAIM: Andy Biersack / Ash Stymest ☠┋EYE COLOUR: Light-blue ☠┋HAIR COLOUR: Naturally ginger but dyes it black ☠┋DOMINANT HAND: Right ☠┋HEIGHT: 5’4 or 162 centimeters ☠┋WEIGHT: 48 kg. ☠┋TATTOOS: He is literally a tattoo landscape, so describing his ink collection would take an entire century, but the roses on his hands are most notable along with a quote from Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf circling around his collarbone. ☠┋SCARS: The most notable ones along with a constellation of burns are on his upper back, though there are other scarred areas as well. Most were souvenirs from an accident whereas others were self-inflicted. ☠┋PIERCINGS: one lip piercing, one nose ring ( usually wears studs), several ear piercings (Industrial, conch, auricle, upper lobe, helix, tragus, graduate lobe, smiley – honestly just ask me what part of his body isn’t pierced and we can all go home sooner) ☠┋GLASSES: Avery doesn’t need glasses.

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

☠┋JUNG TYPE: INFJ ☠┋SUBTYPE: Intuitive Subtype ☠┋ENNEATYPE: 6w5 SX/SP ☠┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral ☠┋TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic/Choleric ☠┋SCHEMA: (NP) Negativity/Pessimism, (MA) Mistrust/Abuse, (EP) Emotional Deprivation (form C)

☠ ┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Visual/Spatial Intelligence

☠┋~IQ: 110 ☠┋NEUROTYPE: Definitely not neurotypical. ☠┋AT RISK? Possibly, although I can’t say for sure at this conjuncture. Likely depression, insomnia and Biploar Disorder II, as there’s a genetic predisposition on the maternal side of his family (his great-grandma had it, along with his mother.)

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

☠┋HOMETOWN: Dartford, England, though he was born in Boston. ☠┋CURRENT: Visual-Spatial Intelligence, Intrapersonal Intelligence, Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence ☠┋LANGUAGE(S): English ( native language), German ☠┋SOCIAL CLASS: working class ☠┋EDUCATIONAL LEVEL: GCSE ☠┋PARENT #1: John Williams ☠┋PARENT #2: Allison (Alisa) Williams neé Little (Klein) ☠┋SIBLING(S): Samantha Williams, 24, alive, estranged

☠┋MAIN SHIP: I ship Avery with stability and getting his shit together. ☠┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single ☠┋CHILDREN: None

☠┋PET(S): Pet rats called Muffin, Sugar and Berry. ☠┋ADOPTED? No. ☠┋RAP SHEET? Surprisingly not, no. ☠┋PRISON TIME? No.

VICES / HABITS

☠┋SMOKES? Yes. He’s a chain smoker, in fact. ☠┋DRINKS? Yes, excessively. Might’ve developed an addiction, though it’s unsure to know for certain as this conjuncture. ☠┋DOES DRUGS? Only soft drugs. ☠┋IS VIOLENT? Yes, he is. Avery’s type of violence is most often just on one level, namely the physical one. Unafraid to mess up somebody’s face twice his size, he’ll do so if and when he feels threatened – or, alternatively, when he really doesn’t like you. It’s not necessarily that he’s pone to violence, nor is he quick to hit and punch without first weighing the consequences, but it does happen. Only on rare occasions such as intimate settings is he emotionally violent if fearing abandonment.

☠┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Possibly. Alcoholism. ☠┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes. Self-harm (among which multiple suicide attempts number. Most frequently, these patterns are implemented through cutting, burning or scratching), habitual lying and high-risk reckless behavior along with excessive promiscuity. ☠┋HABITS: swearing, smoking, cracking knuckles, a sweet tooth that’ll probably rot his teeth down to nothing one day, picking at nail polish, habitual lying, procrastination to the highest level imaginable, forgetting names of people (mostly because he doesn’t bother to remember them in the first place), purposefully argumentative, double-checks everything more often than Nolan (which is an accomplishment in and of itself bordering on obsessive), bites fingernails, snarls for no, grunts for yes and shrugs his shoulders for maybe (not the most communicative sort, obviously), drinks energy drinks and sugary stuff like water to stay away because he’s close to mortified by sleeping or the process of falling asleep (three to four hours of light sleep tops), leave him alone for a while and chances are he’ll have been playing with whatever object is in front of him for many minutes already, will use movie references to retro movies nobody knows (except maybe movie nerds themselves) when around somebody he can tolerate

☠┋HOBBIES: customizing his own clothing, drawing, sleeping in late, organizing everything to a T, cleaning, woodwork, collecting used up pencil stumps, skateboarding, street painting, collecting bibles without any attention to read through them, reading psychology books ☠┋TICS: none

☠┋OBSESSION(S): Avery is downright obsessed with establishing a thoroughly organized system and often can’t resist eliminating any and all ounce of disorder either in his flat or at the shop. He also has a great aversion towards unclean people and therefore spends a lot of time in the bathroom washing his hands. ☠┋COMPULSION(S): hoarding

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

☠┋HOUSE: Slytherin ☠┋VICE: Wrath ☠┋VIRTUE: Kindness ☠┋ELEMENT: Air

☠┋ANGEL: Gabriel

☠┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Sirens

☠┋ANIMAL: Scorpion

☠┋MUTATION: Invisibility, Air manipulation ☠┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? Yes.

STATUS INFORMATION

☠┋DEVELOPMENT: Developed ☠┋SHIPPING: Multiship ☠┋VERSE: Multiverse ☠┋VERSE TYPE: realism, magical realism, crime

☠┋CANON: His tattoo shop verse. ☠┋PLOTTING: Open ☠┋CREATION DATE: May 2014

CHARACTER SUMMARY

If you think you’ll encounter an angel because you’ve judged him by his looks alone, you will be deeply disappointed. In lieu of sweet tunes, you’ll get an earful of pirate-like swearing, profanity, and absolutely no filters. For better or worse, Avery is honest - sometimes brutally so - and doesn’t know the first thing about propriety. His morals are his pillars despite the dysfunctional mess that is his past; however, his own integrity is merciless and predominantly black or white. Regardless, you shouldn’t mistake him for level-headed or even cerebral; Avery is a complicated, contradictory clusterfuck of a person --- all white-knuckled protests aside, he is a very emotional lad, prone to anger issues, and an even poorer developed impulse control.

As somebody who became homeless when still a minor, Avery is no stranger to the ends to which some had to go in order to survive. He might not be gallant, buoyant or even very talkative, but he is humble, charitable and noticeably protective over those who have no means of defense. Nowadays, Avery stays afloat working odd jobs, the most notably one being his position as a drug dealer for the Morrison family. Beyond that, his ability to ascertain how full of shit people are has proved rather lucrative, too. In the end, he has been through too much, has seen too much and heard too much to be fazed by humanity’s depravity anymore, and thereby doesn’t dare reach for the stars. He still lives in an abusive home mentally sitting at disconcertingly silent dinner tables, and making tired excuses for angry welts under layers for him to have any motivation other than to simply sleepwalk through life.

APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Swinging calloused fists, throwing uncouth threats left and right…at the imposing height of 5’4. Although Avery will still feed you your teeth if you reckon it’s cute to call him pipsqueak or any other derogatory remark as to his height, he has come to think of his lanky, tiny, and largely androgynous appearance as an advantage. Looks can deceive, his in particular, because if there’s anything he’s not, it’s helpless. Be that as it may, there are self-image issues along with a deeply-seated insecurity at play regarding his physique, and overall gentle aura, which he contrasts with a collection of tattoos. For attentive listeners, you will hear a mostly Bostoner accent mixed with a faint German undertone while his voice is deep, masculine, and has a raspy current to it. It is not a shock, though, that Avery’s demeanour doesn’t exactly inspire pedestrians to chat him up at a park. As for clothes: just be on the lookout for a scowling, tiny lad in black from head to toe.

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

Contrary to his cantankerous tunes, Avery knows when words of thanks are in order, and he is not at all too prideful to express his gratitude. Anything you give him freely, whether time, trust, or tears is valuable to him. Generally speaking, however, he is best described as being of a melancholic-choleric temperament, a man of few words but decidedly strong convictions who won’t hesitate to play devil’s advocate in order to call you out on your own hypocrisy. What he isn’t, though is deceiving because honesty is an integral part of his belief system; the engine without which the machine would come to a complete standstill. What’s most important to note about his general disposition, additionally, is how much of a duality Avery can be. Endearing at times, and then downright base. This boils down to his anxiety frequently expressed through rage, and insecurity. Ambivalent doesn’t even begin to cover how his personality oscillates between aggressive and dependent absolutes. As enigmatic as he is towards others and himself, though, there’s nothing uncertain about the fact that he is secretly an idealist in a misanthropic realist’s clothing. He wants to believe only the best in people, but also knows when there’s nothing to be done other than to turn some away. In the same vein, Avery struggles with emotional expression – full stop. Due to trauma, genetic factors, and environmental influences, trust is nearly an impossible feat for him; that goes both ways: towards others and himself, thus, while fiercely instinctive, it requires a game guide to unlock personal dialogue, resulting in suspicion and rebellious behaviour to cover up the fear of abandonment.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

By general standards, Avery’s academic gap in his CV doesn’t speak well for his skills or competences, as one would be quick to presume he’s got none at all, which isn’t true. Regardless of having only done the utmost necessary before dropping out of school, he’s not a monolingual. Since his mother has German roots, their household was bilingual, with English being the primary language in their earlier developmental stages, and German introduced at around six to eight years old respectively. His level of proficiency is high in both languages, making him bilingual despite no linguistic talent or inclination to broaden his horizon. There’s also something to note about his dexterity, for his hands aren’t only his most important tools in his career. Indeed, most of his hobbies revolve around crafting or creating something – woodwork being one example. He is also, perforce, an amazing cook and is known to hand out free food to friends who are, unfortunately, still homeless. What’s more, he has been blessed with an impeccable singing voice --- hard, soft, raspy currents like ripples in a river. Up until middle school, too, Avery used to participate in competitive running marathons, along with a penchant for precarious hobbies like skateboarding and parkour, the latter of which he gave up after too many unsuccessful attempts and stays in the hospital. Lastly, and this is vital, he has a natural gift for reading others; he is not easily deceived.

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

How Avery approaches you or comes across is entirely dependent on you – because when he smells bullshit or feels in any way lied to, threatened or manipulated, you’ll encounter his belligerent, patronizing and stubbornly righteous side. If you’re straightforward with your intentions, Avery is more likely to warm and loosen up around you. All in all, he is easy to like, but hardly few really know him. Since his family is a subject best not breached and linked to survivor’s guilt, Avery, for now, is on his own, excluding Lin, Trish, and Síle. Sometimes, even, the lad refers to his own room as a coffin. Unsurprisingly, his sexual relations are strictly physical, and any romantic interest is generally suppressed. If he were actively searching, however, Avery would best respond to unabashedly frank men who are assertive or creative – physically, he likes his men tall, muscular, preferably inked, and not afraid to straight up ask him to fuck. Moreover, given his demons, Avery works very hard to keep the shreds of stability he has in his life, which is why you will not hear him argue unless it’s something he categorizes as fundamentally wrong; he absolutely detests screaming or raised voices.

Additional notes:

His voice claim is the same, i.e. Andy. Is anyone surprised?

Frequently lewd and downright tactless towards men, which is not reminiscent of his bad flirting skills but rather an indicator to please leave him the fuck alone.

Sugary sweets as bribery? 100% effective

Drinks an unhealthy amount of energy drinks to doze rather to deeply fall asleep because the feeling of falling asleep makes him incredibly anxious - night terrors are common.

Listens to bad German punk band and dub step. Definitely don’t allow him to play his music should he ever be in your car lest you’ll suffer profusely.

Has the almost compulsive need to play with items directly in front of him.

His younger sister detests him for walking out on her and leaving her with an alcoholic, abusive dad. Years prior, their mother left one day and never returned. She hopes he’s dead in a ditch.

His relationship with religion is...complicated, to make use of a gross understatement as his family were zealots who only accepted their truth as the way to live. Consequently, Avery also has self-image issues and low self-esteem.

He feels more comfortable and considerably safer around women as far as platonic relationships go, and has an easier time opening up to them.

Natural ginger. Heat and Avery? Not a good mix.

Smells faintly of turpentine oil and citrus-scented utensils for cleaning because he is a neat freak.

Do not allow him anywhere near paper because he will doodle on anything.

Utilizes his art as a means to express himself emotionally.

#profile;Avery #abuse mention tw #my son is finally home i am CRYING

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